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F  E.PERHAM>—>-+t 


BANCROFT 

LIBRARY 

<• 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


v/n 


SONGS 


OF 


THE    SUN-LANDS. 


BY 


JOAQJJIN     MILLER, 

AUTHOR   OF   "SONGS   OF   THE  SIERRAS." 


"The  earth  hath  bubbles,  as  ihe  vvaur  h.is, 
And  these  are  of  them." 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1873. 


\-  s  b 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by 

C.    H.    MILLER, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


CAMBRIDGE: 
PRESS  OF  JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON. 


PS;i3<?7 


TO   THE   ROSSETTIS. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

ISLES  OF  THE  AMAZONS 7 

FROM  SEA  TO  SEA 105 

BY  THE  SUN-DOWN  SEAS 115 

IN  THE  INDIAN  SUMMER 149 

OLIVE  LEAVES  :  — 

At  Bethlehem 165 

In  Palestine 167 

Beyond  Jordan 169 

Faith      .     .     . 170 

Hope 171 

Charity 173 

The  Last  Supper 176 

A  Song  for  Peace ..178 

FALLEN  LEAVES  :  — 

Palm  Leaves    .  183 


vi  CONTENTS. 

FALLEN  LEAVES  :  —  PAGE 

Thomas  of  Tigre 184 

In  Yosemite  Valley 186 

Dead  in  the  Sierras 188 

In  Southern  California 190 

Who  shall  say  ? 192 

A  Love  Song 194 

Down  into  the  Dust 195 

In  San  Francisco 197 

Shadows  of  Shasta 199 

At  Sea 200 

A  Memory  of  Santa  Barbara 201 

Summer  Frosts 204 

Sleep  that  was  not  Sleep 205 

"  Sierras  Adios "      .     .  209 


ISLES     OF    THE    AMAZONS. 
PART  I. 


Primeval  forests  !  virgin  sod  I 

That  Saxon  hath  not  ravish' d  yet! 
Lo  !  peak  on  peak  in  column  set, 

In  stepping  stairs  that  reach  to  God  I 

Here  we  are  free  as  sea  or  wind, 
For  here  are  set  the  snowy  tents 
In  everlasting  battlements, 

Against  the  march  of  Saxon  mind. 


SONGS    OF    THE    SUN-LANDS. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

PRELUDE 

'ELL !  who  shall  lay  hand  on  my  harp  but  me, 

Or  shall  chide  my  song  from  the  sounding  trees  ? 
The  passionate  sun  and  the  resolute  sea, 
These  were  my  masters,  and  only  these. 


w 


These  were  my  masters,  and  only  these, 
And  these  from  the  first. I  obey'd,  and  they 
Shall  command  me  now,  and  I  shall  obey 

As  a  dutiful  child  that  is  proud  to  please. 

There  never  were  measures  as  true  as  the  sun, 
The  sea  hath  a  song  that  is  passingly  sweet, 
And  yet  they  repeat,  and  repeat,  and  repeat. 

The  same  old  runes  though  the  new  years  run. 
1* 


10  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

By  unnamed  rivers  of  the  Oregon  north, 
That  roll  dark-heaved  into  turbulent  hills, 
I  have  made  my  home.  .  .  .     The  wild  heart  thrills 

With  memories  fierce,  and  a  world  storms  forth. 

On  eminent  peaks  that  are  dark  with  pine, 

And  mantled  in  shadows  and  voiced  in  storms, 
I  have  made  my  camps:  majestic  gray  forms 

Of  the  thunder-clouds,  they  were  companions  of  mine ; 

And  face  set  to  face,  like  to  lords  austere, 

Have  we  talk'd,  red-tongued,  of  the  mysteries 
Of  the  circling  sun,  of  the  oracled  seas, 

While  ye  who  judged  me  had  mantled  in  fear. 

Some  fragment  of  thought  in  the  unfinish'd  words ; 

A  cry  of  fierce  freedom,  and  I  claim  no  more. 

What  more  would  you  have  from  the  tender  of  herds 
And  of  horse  on  an  ultimate  Oregon  shore  ? 

From  men  unto  God  go  forth,  as  alone, 

Where  the  dark  pines  talk  in  their  tones  of  the  sea 

To  the  unseen  God  in  a  harmony 
Of  the  under  seas,  and  know  the  unknown. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  II 

'Mid  white  Sierras,  that  slope  to  the  sea, 
Lie  turbulent  lands.     Go  dwell  in  the  skies, 

And  the  thundering  tongues  of  Yosemite 

Shall  persuade  you  to  silence,  and^you  shall  be  wise. 

Yea,  men  may  deride,  and  the  thing  it  is  well ; 
Turn  well  and  aside  from  the  one  wild  note 
To  the  song  of  the  bird  with  the  tame,  sweet  throat ; 

But  the  sea  sings  on  in  his  cave  and  shell. 

Let  the  white  moons  ride,  let  the  red  stars  fall, 
O  great,  sweet  sea !   O  fearful  and  sweet ! 
Thy  songs  they  repeat,  and  repeat,  and  repeat : 

And  these,  I  say,  shall  survive  us  all. 

I  but  sing  for  the  love  of  song  and  the  few 
Who  loved  me  first  and  shall  love  me  last; 
And  the  storm  shall  pass  as  the  storms  have  pass'd, 

For  never  were  clouds  but  the  sun  came  through. 


PART  I. 


up  in  the  hush  of  the  Amazon  River, 
And  mantled  and  hung  in  the  tropical  trees, 
There  are  isles  as  grand  as  the  isles  of  the  seas ; 
And  the  waves  strike  strophes,  and  keen  reeds  quiver, 
As  the  sudden  canoe  shoots  apast  them  and  over 
The  strong,  still  tide  to  the  opposite  shore, 
Where  the  blue-eyed  men  by  the  sycamore 
Sit  mending  their  nets  'neath  the  vine-twined  cover ; 


ii. 


Sit  weaving  their  threads  of  bark  and  of  grasses, 
They  wind  and  they  spin,  on  the  clumsy  wheel, 
Into  hammocks  red-hued  with  the  cochineal, 

To  trade  with  the  single  black  ship  that  passes, 

With  foreign  old  freightage  of  curious  old  store, 
And  as  still  and  as  slow  as  if  half  asleep,  — 
A  cunning  old  trader  that  loves  to  creep 

Above  and  adown  in  the  shade  of  the  shore. 


ISLES -OF    THE   AMAZONS.  13 

in. 

And  the  blue-eyed  men  that  are  mild  as  the  dawns  — 
Oh,  delicate  dawns  of  the  grand  Andes !  — 
Lift  up  soft  eyes  that  are  deep  like  seas, 

And  mild  yet  wild  as  the  red-white  fawns' ; 


IV. 


And  they  gaze  into  yours,  then  weave,  then  listen, 
Then  look  in  wonder,  then  again  weave  on, 
Then  again  look  wonder  that  you  are  not  gone, 

While  the  keen  reeds  quiver  and  the  bent  waves  glisten ; 


v. 


But  they  say  no  words  while  they  weave  and  wonder, 
Though  they  sometimes  sing,  voiced  low  like  the  dove, 
And  as  deep  and  as  rich  as  their  tropical  love, 

A-weaving  their  net  threads  through  and  under. 


VI. 


Yea,  a  pure,  true  people  you  may  trust  are  these, 
That  weave  their  threads  where  the  quick  leaves 

quiver ; 
And  this  is  their  tale  of  the  Isles  of  the  river, 

And  the  why  that  their  eyes  are  so  blue  like  seas, 


14  -  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

And  the  why  that  the  men  draw  water  and  bear 
The  wine  or  the  water  in  the  wild  boar  skin, 
And  do  live  in  the  woods,  and  do  weave  and  spin, 

And  so  bear  with  the  women  full  burthen  and  share. 

VII. 

A  curious  old  tale  of  a  curious  old  time, 

That  is  told  you  betimes  by  a  quaint  old  crone, 
Who  sits  on  the  rim  of  an  island  alone, 

As  ever  was  told  you  in  story  or  rhyme. 


VIII. 


Her  brown,  bare  feet  dip  down  to  the  river, 
And  dabble  and  plash  to  her  comical  tone ; 
And  she  holds  in  her  hands  a  strange  green  stone, 

As  she  talks  to  the  boat  where  the  bent  reeds  quiver. 


IX. 


And  the  quaint  old  crone  has  a  singular  way 
Of  holding  her  head  to  the  side  and  askew, 
And  smoothing  the  stone  in  her  palms  all  day, 

As  saying,  "  I  've  nothing  at  all  for  you," 

Until  you  have  anointed  her  palm,  and  you 
Have  touch'd  on  the  delicate  spring  of  a  door 
That  silver  has  open'd  perhaps  before ; 

-For  woman  is  woman  the  wide  world  through. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  15 

x. 

The  old  near  truth  on  the  far  new  shore ! 
I  bought  and  I  paid  for  it ;  so  did  you : 
The  tale  may  be  false  or  the  tale  may  be  true ; 

I  give  as  I  got  it,  and  who  can  more  ? 

And  if  I  have  purchased  a  beautiful  lie, 
And  liked  it  well,  and  believed  it  true, 
I  have  done  it  before ;  and  so  have  you, 

And  have  been  contented,  and  so  have  I. 

XI. 

If  I  have  made  journeys  to  difficult  shores, 
And  woven  delusions  in  innocent  verse, 
If  none  be  the  wiser,  why,  who  is  the  worse  ? 

The  field  it  was  mine,  and  the  fruit  it  is  yours. 

XII.       . 

A  sudden  told  tale.    You  may  read  as  you  run. 
A  part  of  it  hers,  some  part  is  my  own, 
Crude,  and  too  carelessly  woven  and  sown, 

As  I  sail'd  on  the  Mexican  seas  in  the  sun. 

XIII. 

She  tells  in  her  tale  of  a  brave  young  knight, 
A  singer  and  knight  of  most  knightly  birth, 
Aback  in  the  darlingest  days  of  the  earth ; 

Oh,  dear  old  days  that  are  lost  to  sight ! 


16  ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS. 

XIV. 

Oh,  dear  old  days,  when  the  hot  rhymes  rang 

Like  steel  upon  steel  when  toss'd  to  the  sky ; 

When  lovers  could  love,  when  maidens  could  die 
But  never  deceive,  and  the  song-men  sang 

In  passion  as  pure  as  the  blush  of  the  grape, 
To  clashing  of  swords,  for  a  maiden's  sweet  sigh, 

Nor  measured  for  gold  as  men  measuring  tape, 
Who  turn  from  the  counter  to  turning  of  lays 
On  degenerate  deeds  in  degenerate  days. 

xv. 

O  carpet-knight  singer !  shrewd  merchant  of  song ! 
Get  gold  and  be  glad,  buy,  sell,  and  be  strong ! 
Sweet  Cyprian,  I  kiss  you,  I  pay  you,  we  part : 
Go !  you  have  my  gold,  but  who  has  my  heart  ? 
Go,  splendid  made  singer,  so  finish'd,  so  fair, 
Go  sing  you  of  heaven,  with  never  a  prayer, 
Of  hearts  that  are  aching,  with  never  a  heart, 
Of  Nature,  all  girded  and  bridled  by  art ; 

Go  sing  you  of  battles,  with  never  a  scar, 
Of  sunlight,  with  never  a  soul  for  the  noon ; 
Move  cold  and  alone  like  a  broken,  bright  moon, 

And  shimmer  and  shine  like  a  far,  cold  star. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 


XVI. 


'Twas  nations  ago,  when  the  Amazons  were, 

That  a  fair  young  knight  —  says  the  quaint  old  crone, 
With  her  head  sidewise,  as  she  smoothes  at  the  stone  — 

Came  over  the  seas,  with  his  golden  hair, 

And  a  great  black  steed,  and  glittering  spurs, 

And  a  sword  that  had  come  from  crusaders  down, 
And  a  womanly  face  in  a  manly  frown, 

And  a  heart  as  tender  and  as  true  as  hers. 


xvn. 


And  fairest,  and  foremost  in  love  as  in  war 

Was  the  brave  young  knight  of  the  brave  old  days. 
Of  all  of  the  knights,  with  their  knightly  ways, 

That  had  journey'd  away  to  the  world  afar 

In  the  name  of  Spain ;  of  the  splendid  few 
Who  bore  her  banner  in  the  new-born  world, 
From  the  sea-rim,  up  where  the  clouds  are  curl'd, 

And  the  condors  beat  their  wings  in  the  blue. 


xvm. 


He  was  born,  says  the  crone,  where  the  brave  are  fair, 
And  blown  from  the  banks  of  the  Guadalquiver, 


1 8  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

And  yet  blue-eyed,  with  the  Celt's  soft  hair, 
With  never  a  drop  of  the  dark,  deep  river 
Of  Moorish  blood  that  had  swept  through  Spain, 
And  pJash'd  the  world  with  its  tawny  stain. 

XIX. 

He  sat  on  his  steed,  and  his  sword  was  bloody 

With  heathen  blood;  the  battle  was  done ; 
And  crown'd  in  fire,  wreathed  and  ruddy 

With  antique  temples  built  up  to  the  sun, 
Below  on  the  plain  lay  the  beautiful  city 

At  the  conquerors'  feet ;  the  red  street  strown 
With  dead,  with  gold,  and  with  gods  overthrown, 
His  heart  rebelPd  and  arose  with  pity, 
He  raised  his  head  with  a  proud  disdain, 
And  rein'd  his  steed  on  the  reeking  plain, 
As  the  heathen  pour'd,  in  a  helpless  flood, 
With  never  a  wail  and  with  never  a  blow, 
At  last,  to  even  provoke  a  foe, 
Through  gateways,  wet  with  the  pagan's  blood. 

xx. 

"  Ho,  forward  !  smite !  "  but  the  minstrel  linger'd, 
He  reach'd  his  hand  and  he  touch'd  the  rein, 

He  humm'd  an  air,  and  he  toy'd  and  finger'd 
The  arching  neck  and  the  glossy  mane. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  1 9 

XXI. 

He  rested  the  heel,  he  rested  the  hand, 

Though  the  thing  was  death  to  the  man  to  dare 
To  doubt,  to  question,  to  falter  there, 

Nor  heeded  at  all  to  the  hot  command. 

XXII. 

He  wiped  his  steel  on  his  black  steed's  mane, 
He  sheathed  it  deep,  then  look'd  at  the  sun, 
Then  counted  his  comrades,  one  by  one, 

With  booty  return'd  from  the  plunder'd  plain. 

XXIII. 

He  lifted  his  face  to  the  flashing  snow, 

He  lifted  his  shield  of  steel  as  he  sang, 

And  he  flung  it  away  till  it  clang'd  and  rang 
On  the  granite  rocks  in  the  plain  below, 
Then  cross'd  his  bosom.     Made  overbold, 

He  lifted  his  voice  and  sang,  quite  low 

At  first,  then  loud  in  the  long-ago, 
When  a  love  endured  though  the  days  grew  old. 

XXIV. 

They  heard  his  song,  the  chief  on  the  plain 
Stood  up  in  his  stirrups,  and,  sword  in  hand, 


20  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

He  cursed  and  he  calPd  with  a  loud  command 
To  the  blue-eyed  boy  to  return  again ; 
To  lift  his  shield  again  to  the  sky, 
And  come  and  surrender  his  sword  or  die. 

xxv. 

He  wove  his  hand  in  the  stormy  mane, 
He  lean'd  him  forward,  he  lifted  the  rein, 
He  struck  the  flank,  he  wheel'd  and  sprang, 

And  gayly  rode  in  the  face  of  the  sun, 
And  bared  his  sword  and  he  bravely  sang, 

"  Ho !  come  and  take  it ! "  but  there  came  not  one. 

XXVI. 

And  so  he  sang,  with  his  face  to  the  south : 

"  I  shall  go  ;  I  shall  search  for  the  Amazon  shore, 
Where  the  curses  of  man  they  are  heard  no  more, 

And  kisses  alone  shall  embrace  the  mouth. 

XXVII. 

"I  shall  journey  in  search  of  the  Incan  Isles, 

Go  far  and  away  to  traditional  land, 
Where  Love  is  a  queen  in  a  crown  of  smiles, 

And  battle  has  never  imbrued  a  hand ; 


ISLES    OF   THE   AMAZONS.  21 

XXVIII. 

"  Where  man  has  never  despoiled  or  trod ; 

Where  woman's  hand  with  a  woman's  heart    • 

Has  fashion'd  an  Eden  from  man  apart, 
And  she  walks  in  her  garden  alone  with  God. 

XXIX. 

"  I  shall  seek  that  Eden,  and  all  my  years 
Shall  sit  and  repose,  shall  sing  in  the  sun ; 
And  the  tides  may  rest  or  the  tides  may  run, 

And  men  may  water  the  world  with  tears ; 

XXX. 

"And  the  years  may  come  and  the  years  may  go, 
And  men  make  war,  may  slay  and  be  slain, 

But  I  not  care,  for  I  never  shall  know 
Of  man,  or  of  aught  that  is  man's  again. 

XXXI. 

"  The  waves  may  battle,  the  winds  may  blow, 
The  mellow  rich  moons  may  ripen  and  fall, 

The  seasons  of  gold  they  may  gather  or  go, 
The  mono  may  chatter,  the  paroquet  call, 


22  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

XXXII. 

u  And  who  shall  take  heed,  take  note,  or  shall  know 

If  the  Fates  befriend,  or  if  ill  befall, 

Of  worlds  without,  or  of  worlds  at  all, 
Of  heaven  above,  or  of  hell  below." 

xxxin. 

'Twas  the  song  of  a  dream  and  the  dream  of  a  singer, 
Drawn  fine  as  the  delicate  fibres  of  gold, 

And  broken  in  two  by  the  touch  of  a  finger, 
And  blown  as  the  winds  blow,  rent  and  roll'd 
In  dust,  and  spent  as  a  tale  that  is  told. 

XXXIV. 

Alas !  for  his  dreams  and  the  songs  he  sung : 
The  beasts  beset  him ;  the  serpents  they  hung, 

Red-tongued  and  terrible,  over  his  head. 

He  clove  and  he  thrust  with  his  keen,  quick  steel, 
He  coax'd  with  his  hand  and  urged  with  his  heel, 

Till  his  steel  was  broken,  and  his  steed  lay  dead. 

xxxv. 

He  toil'd  to  the  river,  he  lean'd  intent 

To  the  wave,  and  away  through  the  fringe  of  boughs, 
From  beasts  that  pursued ;  and  breathed  his  vows, 

For  soul  and  body  were  well-nigh  spent. 


ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS.  23 


XXXVI. 


His  arm  arch'd  over,  as  do  arms  on  seas, 
For  sign,  or  for  sound ;  the  thin  lips  press'd, 
And  the  two  hands  cross'd  on  the  helpless  breast, 

For  there  came  no  sound  through  the  sweep  of  the  trees. 


XXXVII. 

'Twas  the  king  of  rivers,  and  the  Isles  were  near; 
Yet  it  moved  so  strange,  so  still,  so  strong, 
And  gave  no  sound,  not  even  the  song 

Of  a  sea-bird  screaming  defiance  or  fear. 

XXXVIII. 

It  was  dark  and  dreadful !     Wide  like  an  ocean, 
Much  like  a  river  but  more  like  a  sea, 

Save  that  there  was  naught  of  the  turbulent  motion 
Of  tides,  or  of  winds  blown  back,  or  a-lee. 

xxxix. 

Yea,  strangely  strong  was  the  wave  and  slow, 
And  half-way  hid  in  the  dark  deep  tide, 

Great  turtles  they  paddled  them  to  and  fro, 
And  away  to  the  Isles  and  the  opposite  side. 


24  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

XL. 

The  nude  black  boar  through  abundant  grass 
Stole  down  to  the  water  and  buried  his  nose, 
And  crush'd  white  teeth  till  the  bubbles  rose 

As  white  and  as  bright  as  the  globes  of  glass. 

XLI. 

Yea,  steadily  moved  it,  mile  upon  mile, 
Above  and  below  and  as  still  as  the  air ; 
The  bank  made  slippery  here  and  there 

By  the  slushing  slide  of  the  crocodile. 

XLII. 

The  great  trees  bent  to  the  tide  like  slaves ; 

They  dipp'd  their  boughs  as  the  stream  swept  on, 
And  then  drew  back,  then  dipp'd  and  were  gone, 

Away  to  the  seas  with  the  resolute  waves. 

XLIII. 

The  land  was  the  tide's ;  the  shore  was  undone ; 
It  look'd  as  the  lawless,  unsatisfied  seas 
Had  thrust  up  an  arm  through  the  tangle  of  trees, 

And  clutch'd  at  the  citrons  that  grew  in  the  sun ; 


ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS.  25 

And  clutch'd  at  the  diamonds  that  hid  in  the  sand, 

And  laid  heavy  hand  on  the  gold,  and  a  hand 

On  the  redolent  fruits,  on  the  rubies-like  wine, 

And  the  stones  like  the  stars  when  the  stars  are  divine ; 

XLIV. 

Had  thrust  through  the  rocks  of  the  ribb'd  Andes ; 
Had  wrested  and  fled ;  and  had  left  a  waste 
And  a  wide  way  strewn  in  precipitate  haste, 

As  he  bore  them  away  to  the  buccaneer  seas. 


XLV. 

O,  heavens,  the  eloquent  song  of  the  silence ! 

Asleep  lay  the  sun  in  the  vines,  on  the  sod, 
And  asleep  in  the  sun  lay  the  green-girdled  islands, 

As  rock'd  to  their  rest  in  the  cradle  of  God. 

XL  VI. 

God's  poet  is  silence  !     His  song  is  unspoken, 
And  yet  so  profound,  so  loud,  and  so  far, 

It  fills  you,  it  thrills  you  with  measures  unbroken,/ 
And  as  soft,  and  as  fair,  and  as  far  as  a  star. 
2 


26  ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS. 

XL  VII. 

The   shallow  seas   moan.     From   the   first   they  have 

rnutter'd 
And  mourn'd,  as  a  child,  and  have  wept   at  their 

will.  .  .  . 

The  poems  of  God  are  too  grand  to  be  utter'd : 
The  dreadful  deep  seas  they  are  loudest  when  still. 

XL  VIII. 

"  I  sh'all  die,"  he  said,  "  by  the  solemn  deep  river, 
By  the  king  of  the  rivers,  and  the  mother  of  seas, 

So  far,  and  so  far  from  my  Guadalquiver, 
Near,  and  so  near  to  the  dreaded  Andes. 

XLIX. 

"  Let  me  sing  one  song  by  the  grand  old  river, 

And  die  ; "  and  he  reach'd  arid  he  brake  him  a  reed 
From  the  rim  of  the  river,  where  they  lift  and  quiver, 

And  he  trimm'd  it  and  notch'd  it  with  all  his  speed 
With  his  treacherous  blade,  in  the  sweep  of  the  trees, 

As  he  stood  with  his  head  bent  low  on  his  breast, 
And  the  vines  in  his  hair  and  the  wave  to  his  knees, 

And  bow'd  like  to  one  who  would  die  to  rest. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  2? 

L. 

"  I  shall  fold  my  hands,  for  this  is  the  river 
Of  death,"  he  said,  "  and  the  sea-green  isle 

Is  an  Eden  set  by  the  gracious  Giver 

Wherein  to  rest."     He  listened  the  while, 

Then  lifted  his  head,  then  lifted  a  hand 

Arch'd  over  his  brow,  and  he  lean'd  and  listen'd,  — 

'Twas  only  a  bird  on  a  border  of  sand,  — 

The  dark  stream  eddy'd  and  gleam' d  and  glisten'd 

Stately  and  still  as  the  march  of  a  moon, 

And  the  martial  notes  from  the  isle  were  gone,  — 
Gone  as  a  dream  dies  out  with  the  dawn, 

And  gone  as  far  as  the. night  from  the  noon. 

LI. 

'Twas  only  a  bird  on  a  border  of  sand, 
Slow  piping,  and  diving  it  here  and  there, 
Slim,  gray,  and  shadowy,  light  as  the  air, 

That  dipp'd  below  from  a  point  of  the  land. 

LIT. 

»"  Unto  God  a  prayer  and  to  love  a  tear, 
And  I  die,"  he  said,  "  in  a  desert  here, 
So  deep  that  never  a  note  is  heard 
But  the  listless  song  of  that  soulless  bird." 


28  ISLES    OF   THE   AMAZONS. 

LIII. 

He  moved  to  a  burthen  of  blossoms  rare, 

And  stood  in  the  red-white  sweets  to  his  knees,  — 

The  pink  and  the  purple  that  filled  the  air 
With  fragrance  sweet  as  a  breeze  of  bees. 
LIV. 

He  crush'd  the  blooms  to  the  sod  untrod, 
The  mateless  man,  in  an  Eden,  fair 
As  the  one  of  old,  in  his  fierce  despair, 

So  hidden  from  man  by  the  hand  of  God; 
LV. 

Ay,  hidden  above  by  the  vines  and  mosses, 
And  zoned  about  by  the  tide  like  seas, 
And  curtain'd  above  by  the  linden-trees, 

Well  wove  and  inwove  in  intricate  crosses ; 

LVI. 

The  trees  that  lean'd  in  their  love  unto  trees, 

That  lock'd  in  their  loves,  and  were  so  made  strong, 
Stronger  than  armies ;  ay,  stronger  than  seas 

That  rush  from  their  caves  in  a  storm  of  song. 

LVII. 
"  A  miser  of  old  his  last,  great  treasure 

Flung  far  in  the  sea,  and  he  fell  and  he  died ; 

And  so  shall  I  give,  O  terrible  tide, 
To  you  my  song  and  my  last  sad  measure." 


ISLES   OF   THE   AMAZONS.  29 

LVIH. 

He  blew  on  his  reed  by  the  still,  strong  river, 
Blew  low  at  first,  like  a  dream,  then  long, 

Then  loud,  then  loud  as  the  keys  that  quiver, 
And  fret,  and  toss  with  their  freight  of  song. 


He  sang  and  he  sang  with  a  resolute  will, 

Till  the  mono  rested  above  on  his  haunches, 
And  held  his  head  to  the  side  and  was  still,  — 

Till  a  bird  blew  out  of  the  night  of  branches, 
Alit  on  a  reed,  and  with  delicate  skill 

Sang  sadder  than  love,  so  sweeter  than  sad, 
Till  the  boughs  did  burthen  and  the  reeds  did  fill 

With  beautiful  birds,  and  the  boy  was  glad. 

LX. 

Our  loves  they  are  told  by  the  myriad-eyed  stars, 
Yet  love  it  is  well  in  a  reasonable  way, 
And  fame  it  is  fair  in  its  way  for  a  day, 

Borne  dusty  from  books  and  bloody  from  wars  ; 

And  death,  I  say,  is  an  absolute  need, 

And  a  calm  delight,  and  an  ultimate  good ; 


30  ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS. 

But  a  song  that  is  blown  from  a  watery  reed 
By  a  soundless  deep  from  a  boundless  wood, 

With  never  a  hearer  to  heed  or  to  prize 

But  God  and  the  birds  and  the  hairy  wild  beasts, 
Is  sweeter  than  love,  than  fame,  or  than  feasts, 

Or  any  thing  else  that  is  under  the  skies. 

LXI. 
The  quick  leaves  quiver'd,  and  the  sunlight  danced ; 

As  the  boy  sang  sweet,  and  the  birds  said,  "  Sweet ; 

And  the  tiger  crept  close,  and  lay  low  at  his  feet, 
And  he  sheath'd  his  claws  in  the  sun,  entranced. 

LXII. 
The  serpent  that  hung  from  the  sycamore  bough, 

And  sway'd  his  head  in  a  crescent  above, 
Had  folded  his  neck  to  the  white  limb  now, 

And  fondled  it  close  like  a  great  black  love. 

LXIII. 

But  the  hands  grew  weary,  the  heart  wax'd  faint, 
The  loud  notes  fell  to  a  far-off  plaint, 
The  sweet  birds  echo'd  no  more,  "  Oh,  sweet," 

The  tiger  arose  and  unsheath'd  his  claws, 

The  serpent  extended  his  iron  jaws, 
And  the  frail  reed  shiver' d  and  fell  at  his  feet. 


ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS.  3 1 


LXIV. 


A  sound  on  the  tide,  and  he  turned  and  cried, 
"  Oh,  give  God  thanks,  for  they  come,  they  come ! 
He  look'd  out  afar  on  the  opaline  tide, 

Then  clasp'd  his  hands,  and  his  lips  were  dumb. 


LXV. 


A  sweeping  swift  crescent  of  sudden  canoes ! 
As  light  as  the  sun  of  the  south  and  as  soon, 
And  true  and  as  still  as  a  sweet  half-moon 

That  leans  from  the  heavens,  and  loves  and  wooes  I 


LXVI. 


The  Amazons  came  in  their  martial  pride, 
As  full  on  the  stream  as  a  studding  of  stars, 
All  girded  in  armor  as  girded  in  wars, 

In  foamy  white  furrows  dividing  the  tide. 


LXVII. 


With  a  face  as  brown  as  the  boatmen's  are, 
Or  the  brave,  brown  hand  of  a  harvester  ; 
And  girdled  in  gold,  and  crown'd  in  hair 
In  a  storm  of  night,  all  studded  with  rare 


32  ISLES    OF   THE   AMAZONS. 

Rich  stones,  that  fretted  the  full  of  a  noon, 
The  Queen  on  a  prow  stood  splendid  and  tall, 
As  petulant  waters  would  lift,  and  fall, 

And  beat,  and  bubble  a  watery  rune  : 

LXVIII. 

Stood  forth  for  the  song,  half  lean'd  in  surprise, 
Stood  fair  to  behold,  arid  yet  grand  to  behold, 
And  austere  in  her  face,  and  saturnine-souPd, 

And  sad  and  subdued,  in  her  eloquent  eyes. 

LXIX. 

And  sad  were  they  all ;  yet  tall  and  serene 
Of  presence,  but  silent,  and  brow'd  severe 

As  for  some  things  lost,  or  for  some  fair,  green, 
And  beautiful  place,  to  the  memory  dear. 

LXX. 

"  O  Mother  of  God !     Thrice  merciful  saint ! 

I  am  saved ! "  he  said,  and  he  wept  outright ; 

Ay,  wept  as  even  a  woman  might, 
For  the  soul  was  full  and  the  heart  was  faint. 


ISLES   OF   THE   AMAZONS.  33 

LXXI. 

"  Stay !  stay ! "  cried  the  Queen,  and  she  leapt  to  the 
land, 

And  she  lifted  her  hand,  and  she  lower'd  their  spears, 
A  woman  !  a  woman !  ho !  help  !  give  a  hand ! 

"  A  woman !  a  woman  I  we  know  by  the  tears." 

Lxxn. 

Then  gently  as  touch  of  the  truest  of  woman, 
They  lifted  him  up  from  the  earth  as  he  fell, 
And  into  the  boat,  with  a  half-hidden  swell 

Of  the  heart  that  was  holy  and  tenderly  human. 

Lxxm. 

They  spoke  low-voiced  as  a  vesper  prayer ; 
They  pillowed  his  head  as  only  the  hand 
Of  woman  can  pillow,  and  push'd  from  the  land, 

And  the  Queen  she  sat  threading  the  gold  of  his  hair. 

LXXIV. 

Then  away  with  the  wave,  and  away  to  the  Isles, 
In  a  song  of  the  oars  of  the  crescented  fleet 

That  timed  together  in  musical  wiles 
In  bubbles  of  melodies  swift  and  sweet. 
2*  c 


ISLES     OF    THE    AMAZONS. 
PAKT  II. 


Forsake  the  city.     Follow  me 
To  where  the  white  caps  of  a  sea 
Of  mountains  break  and  break  again. 

As  blown  in  foam  against  a  star  — 
As  breaks  the  fury  of  a  main  — 

And  there  remains,  asfa'd,  as  far. 

Forsake  the  people.     What  are  they 

That  laugh,  that  live,  that  love,  by  rule  ? 
Forsake  the  Saxon.     What  are  these 
That  shun  the  shadoivs  of  the  trees : 
The  Druid-forests  ?  .  .  ..    Go  thy  way, 
We  are  not  one.     1  will  not  please 
You ;  —fare  you  well,  0  wiser  fool  I 

But  you  who  love  me;  —  Ye  who  love 
The  shaggy  forests,  fierce  delights 
Of  sounding  waterfalls,  of  heights 
That  hang  like  broken  moons  above, 
With  brows  of  pine  that  brush  the  sun. 
Believe  and  follow.     We  are  one; 
The  wild  man  shall  to  us  be  tame  ; 

The  woods  shall  yield  their  mysteries ; 
The  stars  shall  answer  to  a  name, 
And  be  as  birds  above  the  trees. 


ISLES     OF    THE    AMAZONS. 


P  K  E  L  U  D  E. 

TN  the  days  when  my  mother,  the  Earth,  was  young, 

And  you  all  were  not,  nor  the  likeness  of  you, 
She  walked  in  her  maidenly  prime  among 
The  moonlit  stars  in  the  boundless  blue. 

Then  the  great  sun  lifted  his  shining  shield, 
And  he  flash'd  his  sword  as  the  soldiers  do, 

And  he  moved  like  a  king  full  over  the  field, 
And  he  look'd,  and  he  loved  her  brave  and  true. 

And  looking  afar  from  the  ultimate  rim, 

As  he  lay  at  rest  in  a  reach  of  light, 

He  beheld  her  walking  alone  at  night, 
Where  the  buttercup  stars  in  their  beauty  swim. 

So  he  rose  up  flush'd  iniiis  love,  and  he  ran, 
And  he  reach'd  his  arms,  and  around  her  waist 

He  wound  them  strong  like  a  love-struck  man, 

And  he  kiss'd  and  embraced  her,  brave  and  chaste. 


38  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

So  he  nursed  his  love  like  a  babe  at  its  birth, 
And  he  warrn'd  in  his  love  as  the  long  years  ran, 

Then  embraced  her  again,  and  sweet  mother  Earth 
Was  a  mother  indeed,  and  her  child  was  man. 

The  sun  is  the  sire,  the  mother  is  earth ! 

What  more  do  you  know  ?  what  more  do  I  need  ? 
The  one  he  begot,  and  the  one  gave  birth, 

And  I  love  them  both,  and  let  laugh  at  your  creed. 

And  who  shall  pronounce  that  the  child  of  the  sun, 
With  his  rich  sun-worship,  was  utterly  wrong 
In  the  far,  new  years  when  the  stars  kept  song  ? 

But  judge,  and  be  judged;  —  condemn,  and  have  done. 

And  who  shall  proclaim  they  were  all  unwise 

In  their  great,  warm  faith  ?     Time  answers  us  not : 

The  quick  fool  questions ;  but  who  replies  ? 
The  wise  man  hesitates,  hush'd  in  thought. 


PAHT  II. 


nnilEY  swept  to  the  Isles  through  the  furrows  of  foam, 

They  alit  on  the  land  as  love  hastening  home, 
And  below  the  banana,  with  leaf  like  a  tent, 

They  tenderly  laid  him,  they  bade  him  take  rest ; 

They  brought  him  strange  fishes  and  fruits  of  the  best, 
And  he  ate  and  took  rest  with  a  patient  content. 

n. 

They  watch'd  with  him  well,  and  he  rose  up  strong ; 
He  stood  in  their  midst,  and  they  said,  "  How  fair ! " 
And  they  said,  "  How  tall ! "    And  they  toy'd  with 
his  hair, 

And  they  touch'd  his  limbs,  and  they  said,  "  How  long ! 

And  how  strong  they  are ;  and  how  brave  she  is, 
That  she  made  her  way  through  the  wiles  of  man, 
That  she  braved  his  wrath,  that  she  broke  the  ban 

Of  his  desolate  life  for  the  loves  of  this !  " 


40  ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS. 


HI. 


They  wove  for  him  garments  with  womanly  pride, 
But  he  held  his  head  with  a  sense  of  shame 

In  his  strange  deceit  and  his  sex  denied, 

Then  pursed  his  brow  with  a  touch  of  blame. 


IV. 


They  wrought  for  him  armor  of  cunning  attire, 
They  brought  him  a  sword  and  a  great  shell  shield, 
And  implored  him  to  shiver  the  lance  on  the  field, 

And  to  follow  their  beautiful  Queen  in  her  ire. 


But  he  took  him  apart ;  then  the  Amazons  came 
And  entreated  of  him  with  their  eloquent  eyes 
And  their  earnest  and  passionate  souls  of  flame, 

And  the  soft,  sweet  words  that  are  broken  of  sighs, 
To  be  one  of  their  own,  but  he  still  denied, 

And  he  warr'd  with  himself,  and  his  chivalrous  heart 
Arose  and  rebell'd  at  the  treacherous  part 
He  play'd  for  his  life ;  and  he  grew  to  despise 
The  thought  of  himself  with  a  shudder  of  shame, 
And  bow'd  and  abash'd  he  stole  farther  aside. 


ISLES   OF   THE   AMAZONS.  4* 


vi. 


He  stood  by  the  palms  and  he  lean'd  in  unrest, 
And  standing  alone,  look'd  out  and  afar, 
For  his  own  fair  land  where  the  castles  are, 

With  irresolute  arms  on  a  restless  breast. 


VII. 


He  relived  his  loves,  and  recall'd  his  wars, 
He  gazed  and  he  gazed  with  a  soul  distress'd, 
Like  a  far  sweet  star  that  is  lost  in  the  west, 

Till  the  day  was  broken  to  a  dust  of  stars. 


VIII. 


They  sigh'd,  and  they  left  him  alone  in  the  care 
Of  faithfullest  matron  ;  they  moved  to  the  field 
With  the  lifted  sword  and  the  sounding  shield 

High  fretting  magnificent  storms  of  hair. 


IX. 


And,  true  as  the  moon  in  her  march  of  stars, 
The  Queen  stood  forth  in  her  fierce  attire 

Worn  as  they  train'd,  or  worn  in  the  wars, 
As  bright  and  as  chaste  as  a  flash  of  fire. 


42  ISLES    OF   THE   AMAZONS. 


x. 


With  girdles  of  gold  and  of  silver  cross'd, 
And  plaited,  and  chased,  and  bound  together, 
Broader  and  stronger  than  belts  of  leather, 

Cunningly  fashion'd  and  blazon'd  and  boss'd  — 

With  diamonds  circling  her,  stone  upon  stone, 
Above  the  breast  where  the  borders  fail, 

Below  the  breast  where  the  fringes  zone, 
She  moved  in  a  glittering  garment  of  mail. 


XI. 


The  form  made  hardy  and  the  waist  made  spare 
From  athlete  sports  and  adventures  bold, 
The  breastplate,  fasten'd  with  clasps  of  gold, 

Was  clasp'd,  as  close  as  the  breasts  could  bear.  — 

And  bound  and  drawn  to  a  delicate  span, 

It  flash'd  in  the  red  front  ranks  of  the  field  — 

Was  fashion'd  full  trim  in  its  intricate  plan 
And  gleam'd  as  a  sign,  as  well  as  a  shield, 

That  the  virgin  Queen  was  unyielding  still, 
And  pure  as  the  tides  that  around  her  ran ; 

True  to  her  trust,  and  strong  in  her  will 
Of  war,  and  hatred  to  the  touch  of  man. 


ISLES    OF   THE   AMAZONS.  43 

XII. 

The  field  it  was  theirs  in  storm  or  in  shine, 

So  fairly  they  stood  that  the  foe  came  not 

To  the  battle  again,  and  the  fair  forgot 
The  rage  of  battle ;  and  they  trimm'd  the  vine, 
They  tended  the  fields  of  the  tall  green  corn, 

They  crush'd  the  grape,  and  they  drew  the  wine 
In  great  round  gourds  or  the  bended  horn, 

And  seem'd  as  souls  that  are  half  divine. 

xm. 

They  bathed  in  the  wave  in  the  amber  morn, 
They  took  repose  in  the  peaceful  shade 
Of  eternal  palms,  and  were  never  afraid ; 

Yet  still  did  they  sigh,  and  look  far  and  forlorn. 

XIV. 

Then  down  where  waves  by  the  white  sands  ran 
And  left  them  laved  with  kisses,  and  these 

They  journey'd  away  with  the  caravan 

Of  the  grand  old  tide  to  the  grander  seas.  — 

Where  the  rim  of  the  wave  was  weaving  a  spell, 
And  the  grass  grew  soft  where  it  hid  from  the  sun, 
Would  the  Amazons  gather  them  every  one 

At  the  call  of  the  Queen  or  the  sound  of  her  shell : 


44  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

xv. 

Would  come  in  strides  through  the  kingly  trees, 

And  train  and  marshal  them  brave  and  well 
In  the  golden  noon,  in  the  hush  of  peace 

Where  the  shifting  shades  of  the  fan-palms  fell ; 
Would  lean  on  their  long  quick  quivering  swords ; 

Would  rest  on  their  shields  in  a  line  at  the  side ; 
Would  lift  their  brows  to  the  front  and  tow'rds 

Their  Queen  as  she  moved  in  her  matchless  pride : 

XVI. 

Would  train  till  flush'd  and  as  warm  as  wine, 

Would  reach  with  their  limbs,  would  thrust  with  the 

lance, 

Attack,  retire,  retreat  and  advance, 
Then  wheel  in  column,  then  foil  in  line ; 
Stand  thigh  and  thigh  with  the  limbs  made  hard 
And  rich  and  round  as  the  swift-limb'd  pard, 
Or  a  racer  train'd,  or  a  white  bull  caught 
In  the  lasso's  toils,  where  the  tame  are  not. 

XVII. 

Would  curve  as  the  waves  curve,  swerve  in  line ; 
Would  dash  through  the  trees,  would  train  with  the 
bow, 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  45 

Then  back  to  the  lines,  now  sudden,  then  slow, 
Then  flash  their  swords  in  the  sun  at  a  sign ; 
Would  settle  the  foot  right  firm  afront, 

Then  sound  the  shield  till  the  sound  was  heard 
Afar,  as  the  horn  in  the  black  boar  hunt ; 

Yet,  stranger  than  all,  say  never  a  word. 

XVIII. 

When  shadows  fell  far  from  the  westward,  and  when 
The  sun  had  kiss'd  hands  and  made  sail  for  the  east, 

They  would  kindle  the  fires  and  gather  them  then, 
Well-worn  and  most  merry  with  song,  to  the  feast. 

XIX. 

There  feasting  in  circles,  they  sang  of  the  sun, 
Their  prowess  or  valor,  in  peril  or  pain  ; 

Till  the  Isles  were  awake  and  the  birds  were  outdone  ; 
And  long  ere  the  dawn  were  up  singing  again. 

xx. 

They  sang  of  all  things,  but  the  one,  sacred  one, 

That  could  make  them  most  glad,  as  they  lifted  the 

gourd 
And  pass'd  it  around,  with  its  rich  purple  hoard, 

From  the  Island  that  lay  with  its  front  to  the  sun. 


46  ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS. 

XXI. 

Though  lips  were  made  luscious,  and  eyes  as  divine 
As  the  eyes  of  the  skies  that  bend  down  from  above ; 
Though  hearts  were  made  glad  and  most  mellow 

with  love, 

As  dripping  gourds  drain'd  of  their  burthens  of  wine ; 
Though   brimming,  and   dripping,  and   bent   of  their 

shape 

Were  the  generous  gourds  from  the  juice  of  the  grape, 
They  could  sing  not  of  love,  they  could  breathe  not  a 

thought 
Of  the  savor  of  life ;  love  sought,  or  unsought. 

XXII. 

Their  loves  they  were  not ;  they  had  banish' d  the  name 
Of  man,  and  the  uttermost  mention  of  love,  — 
The  moonbeams  about  them,  the  quick  stars  above, 

The  mellow-voiced  waves,  they  were  ever  the  same, 

In  sign,  and  in  saying,  of  the  old  true  lies ; 
But  they  took  no  heed  ;  no  answering  sign, 

Save  glances  averted  and  half-hush' d  sighs, 

Went  back  from  the  breasts  with  their  loves  divine. 

XX1IT. 

They  sang  of  their  freedom  with  a  will,  and  well,  — 
They  paid  for  it  well  when  the  price  was  blood ; 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  47 

They  beat  on  the  shield,  and  they  blew  on  the  shell, 

When  their  wars  were  not,  for  they  held  it  good 
To  be  glad  and  to  sing  till  the  flush  of  the  day, 

In  an  annual  feast,  when  the  broad  leaves  fell ; 

Yet  some  sang  not,  and  some  sigh'd,  "  Ah,  well ! "  — 
For  there 's  far  less  left  you  to  sing  or  to  say, 
When  mettlesome  love  is  banish'd,  I  ween,  — 

To  hint  at  as  hidden,  or  to  half  disclose 
In  the  swift  sword-cuts  of  the  tongue,  made  keen 

With  wine  at  a  feast,  —  than  one  would  suppose. 

XXIV. 

So  the  days  wore  by,  but  they  brought  no  rest 

To  the  minstrel  knight,  though  the  sun  was  as  gold, 

And  the  Isles  were  green,  and  the  Amazons  blest 
In  the  splendor  of  arms,  and  as  pure  as  bold. 


XXV. 

He  now  would  resolve  to  reveal  to  her  all, 
His  sex  and  his  race  in  a  well-timed  song ; 
And  his  love  of  peace,  his  hatred  of  wrong, 

And  his  own  deceit,  though  the  sun  should  fall. 


48  ISLES    OF   THE   AMAZONS. 

XXVI. 

Then  again  he  would  linger,  and  knew  not  how 
He  could  best  proceed,  and  deferr'd  him  now 
Till  a  favorite  day,  then  the  fair  day  came, 
Arid  still  he  delayed,  and  reproach'd  him  the  same. 

XXVII. 

Then  again  he  did  vow  to  reveal  full  soon, 
Then  deeply  he  blush'd,  then  upbraided  sore 
The  winds  that  had  blown  from  the  Castile  shore, 

And  walk'd  by  the  waves  in  the  great  white  moon. 

XXVIII. 

He  still  said  nought,  but,  subduing  his  head, 
He  wander'd  by  day  in  a  dubious  spell 

Of  unutterable  thought  of  the  truth  unsaid, 
To  the  indolent  shore ;  and  he  gather'd  a  shell, 

And  he  shaped  its  point  to  his  passionate  mouth, 
And  he  turn'd  to  a  bank  and  began  to  blow, 
While  the  Amazons  train'd  in  a  troop  below, 

And  as  soft  and  as  sweet  as  a  kiss  of  the  South. 

XXIX. 

It  stirr'd  their  souls,  and  they  ceased  to  train 
In  troop  by  the  shore,  as  the  tremulous  strain 


ISLES   OF   THE   AMAZONS.  49 

Fell  down  from  the  hill  through  the  tasselling  trees ; 
And  a  murmur  of  song,  like  the  sound  of  bees 
In  the  clover  crown  of  a  queenly  spring, 

Came  back  unto  him,  and  he  laid  the  shell 
Aside  on  the  bank,  and  began  to  sing 

Of  eloquent  love ;  and  the  ancient  spell 
Of  passionate  song  was  his,  and  the  Isle, 

As  waked  to  delight  from  its  slumber  long, 
Came  back  in  echoes ;  yet  all  this  while 

He  knew  not  at  all  the  sin  of  his  song. 

XXX. 

4 

Then  the  Amazons  lifted  with  glad  surprise, 
Stood  splendid  at  first  and  look'd  far  and  fair, 
Set  forward  a  foot,  and  shook  back  their  hair, 

Like  clouds  push'd  back  from  the  sun-lit  skies. 


ISLES     OF    THE    AMAZONS, 
PART  III. 


/  know  upon  this  earth  a  spot 

Where  clinking  coins,  that  clink  as  chains 

Upon  the  souls  of  men,  are  not ; 
Nor  man  is  measured  for  his  gains 
Of  gold  that  stream  with  crimson  stains. 

The  rivers  run  unmaster'd  yet. 

Unmeasured  sweep  their  sable  bredes : 

The  pampas  unpossessed  is  set 

With  stormy  banners  of  her  steeds, 
That  rival  man  in  martial  deeds. 

The  snow-topped  towers  crush  the  clouds 
And  break  the  still  abode  of  stars, 

Like  sudden  ghosts  in  snowy  shrouds, 
New  broken  through  their  earthly  bars , 

And  condors  whet  with  crooked  beaks 

The  lofty  limits  of  the  peaks. 

0  men  that  fret  as  frets  the  main! 

You  irk  one  with  your  eager  gaze 
Down  in  the  earth  for  fat  increase  — 

Eternal  talks  of  gold  and  gain, 
Your  shallow  wit,  your  shallow  ways  .  .  . 

And  breaks  my  soul  across  the  shoal 
As  breakers  break  on  shallow  seas. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 


P  B  E  L  U  D  E. 

T    O,  Isles  of  the  Incas !  Amazon  Isles, 

T"'    The  sun  hath  loved  you,  clothed  and  crown'd, 

And  touch'd  you  tenderly,  girt  you  round 
With  a  sunset  wave  in  a  wealth  of  smiles. 

O  Isles  of  a  wave  in  an  ocean  of  wood ! 

O  white  waves  lost  in  the  wilds  I  love ! 

Let  the  red  stars  rest  on  your  breast  from  above, 
And  sing  to  the  sun,  for  his  love  it  is  good. 

He  has  made  you  his  heirs,  he  has  given  you  gold, 
And  wrought  for  you  garments  of  limitless  green, 
With  beautiful  bars  of  the  scarlet  between, 

And  of  silver  seams  fretting  you  fold  on  fold. 

He  has  kiss'd  and  caress'd  you,  loved  you  true, 
Yea,  loved  as  a  God  loves,  loved  as  I 
Shall  learn  to  love  when  the  stars  shall  lie 

Like  blooms  at  my  feet  in  a  field  of  blue. 


PART  III. 


'THIIEY  bared  their  brows  to  the  palms  above, 
But  some  look'd  level  into  comrade's  eyes, 
And  they  then  remember'd  that  the  thought  of  love 
Was  the  thing  forbidden,  and  they  sank  in  sighs. 

ii. 
They  turn'd  from  the  training,  to  heed  in  throng 

To  the  old,  old  tale ;  and  they  train'd  no  more, 

As  he  sang  of  love ;  and  some  on  the  shore, 
And  full  in  the  sound  of  the  eloquent  song, 
With  a  womanly  air  and  irresolute  will 

Went  listlessly  onward  as  gathering  shells ; 

Then  gazed  in  the  waters,  as  women  in  spells ; 
Then  turned  to  the  song  and  sigh'd,  and  were  still. 

in. 
And  they  said  no  word.     Some  tapp'd  on  the  sand 

With  the  sandall'd  foot,  keeping  time  to  the  sound, 
In  a  sort  of  dream ;  some  timed  with  the  hand, 

And  one  held  eyes  full  of  tears  to  the  ground. 


ISLES   OF    THE   AMAZONS.  55 

IV. 

She  thought  of  the  days  when  their  wars  were  not, 

As  she  lean'd  and  listen'd  to  the  old,  old  song, 
When  they  sang  of  their  loves,  and  she  well  forgot 

The  hard  oppressions  and  a  world  of  wrong. 
Like  a  pure  true  woman,  with  her  trust  in  tears 

And  the  things  that  are  true,  she  relived  them  in 

thought, 
Though  hush'd  and  crush'd  in  the  fall  of  the  years  j 

She  lived  but  the  fair,  and  the- false  she  forgot 
As  a  tale  long  told,  or  as  things  that  are  dreams ; 

And  the  quivering  curve  of  the  lip  confest 
The  silent  regrets,  and  a  soul  that  teems 

With  a  world  of  love  in  a  brave  true  breast. 

v. 

Then  this  one  younger,  who  had  known  no  love, 
Nor  look'd  upon  man  but  in  blood  on  the  field, 
She  bow'd  her  head,  and  she  lean'd  on  her  shield, 

And  her  heart  beat  quick  as  the  wings  of  a  dove 

That  is  blown  from  the  sea,  where  the  rests  are  not 
In  the  time  of  storms ;  and  by  instinct  taught 
Grew  pensive,  and  sigh'd ;  and  she  thought  and  she 
thought 

Of  some  wonderful  things,  and  —  she  knew  not  of  what. 


56  ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS. 

VI. 

Then  this  one  thought  of  a  love  forsaken, 

She  thought  of  a  brown  sweet  babe,  and  she  thought 
Of  the  bread-fruits  gather'd,  of  the  swift  fish  taken 

In  intricate  nets,  like  a  love  well  sought. 

VII. 

She  thought  of  the  moons  of  her  maiden  dawn, 
Mellow'd  and  fair  with  the  forms  of  man ; 

So  dearer  indeed  to  dwell  upon 

Than  the  beautiful  waves  that  around  her  ran ; 

vm. 
So  fairer  indeed  than  the  fringes  of  light 

That  lie  at  rest  on  the  west  of  the  sea 
In  furrows  of  foam  on  the  borders  of  night, 

And  dearer  indeed  than  the  songs  to  be  — 
Than  calling  of  dreams  from  the  opposite  land, 

To  the  land  of  life,  and  of  journeys  dreary 

When  the  soul  goes  over  from  the  form  grown  weary, 
And  walks  in  the  cool  of  the  trees  on  the  strand. 

IX. 

But  the  Queen  was  enraged  and  would  smite  him  at  first 
With  the  sword  unto  death,  yet  it  seem'd  that  she  durst 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  57 

Not  touch  him  at  all ;  and  she  moved  as  to  chide, 
And  she  lifted  her  face,  and  she  frown'd  at  his  side, 
Then  touch'd  on  his  arm ;  then  she  look'd  in  his  eyes 
And  right  full  in  his  soul,  but  she  saw  no  fear 
In  the  pale  fair  face,  and  with  frown  severe 
She  press'd  her  lips  as  suppressing  her  sighs. 

x. 

She  banish'd  her  wrath,  she  unbended  her  face, 
She  lifted  her  hand  and  put  back  his  hair 
From  his  fair  sad  brow,  with  a  penitent  air, 

And  forgave  him  all  with  an  unutter'd  grace ; 

For  she  said  no  word.     Yet  no  more  was  severe ; 
She  stood  as  subdued  by  the  side  of  him  still, 
Then  averted  her  face  with  a  resolute  will, 

As  to  hush  a  regret,  or  to  hide  back  a  tear. 

XI. 

She  sigh'd  to  herself:  "  A  stranger  is  this, 
And  ill  and  alone,  that  knows  not  at  all 
That  a  throne  shall  totter  and  the  strong  shall  fall, 

At  the  mention  of  love  and  its  banefullest  bliss. 

O  life  that  is  lost  in  bewildering  love  — 

But  a  stranger  is  sacred ! "     She  lifted  a  hand 
3* 


58  ISLES    OF   THE   AMAZONS. 

And  she  laid  it  as  soft  as  the  breast  of  a  dove 

On  the  minstrel's  mouth.    It  was  more  than  the  wand 

Of  the  tamer  of  serpents ;  for  she  did  no  more 

Than  to  bid  with  her  eyes  and  to  beck  with  her  hand, 

And  the  song  drew  away  to  the  waves  of  the  shore ; 
Took  wings,  as  it  were,  to  the  verge  of  the  land. 

XII. 

But  her  heart  was  oppress'd.     With  penitent  head 
She  turn'd  to  her  troop,  and,  retiring,  she  said : 
"  Alas !  and  alas !  shall  it  come  to  pass 
That  the  panther  shall  die  from  a  blade  of  grass  ? 
That  the  tiger  shall  yield  at  the  bent-horn  blast  ? 
That  we,  who  have  conquered  a  world  and  all 
Of  men  and  of  beasts  in  the  world,  must  fall 
Ourselves,  at  the  mention  of  love,  at  last  ?  " 

XIII. 

The  singer  was  fretted,  and  farther  apart 
He  wander'd,  perplex' d ;  and  he  felt  his  heart 
Beat  quick  and  troubled,  and  all  untamed, 
As  he  saw  her  move  with  marvellous  grace 
To  her  troop  below ;  he  turn'd  from  his  place, 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  59 

Oppress'd  and  humbled,  and  sore  ashamed 
That  he  lived  in  the  land  in  the  shield  of  a  lie ; 
That  he  dared  not  stand  forth  face  to  face 
To  the  truth,  and  die  as  a  knight  should  die. 

XIV. 

The  tall  brown  Queen,  when  turn'd  to  her  troop, 
Led  minstrel  and  all  to  the  innermost  part 

Of  the  palm-crown'd  Isle,  where  great  trees  group 
In  armies,  to  battle  when  black  storms  start, 

And  made  her  retreat  from  the  sun  by  the  trees 
That  are  topped  like  tents,  where  the  fire-flies 
Are  a  light  to  the  feet,  and  a  fair  lake  lies 

As  cool  as  the  coral-set  centres  of  seas. 

xv. 
And  here  the  carpets  of  Nature  were  spread, 

Made  pink  with  blossoms  and  fragrant  bloom ; 
Her  soft  couch,  canopied  overhead, 

Allured  to  sleep  with  the  deep  perfume. 

XVI. 

The  sarsaparilla  had  woven  its  thread 

So  through  and  through,  like  the  threads  of  gold ; 

'Twas  stronger  than  thongs  in  its  thousandfold, 
And  on  every  hand  and  up  overhead 


60  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

Ran  thick  as  threads  on  the  rim  of  a  reel, 

Through  red  leaf  and  dead  leaf,  bough  and  vine, 
The  green  and  the  gray  leaf,  coarse  and  fine, 

And  the  cactus  tinted  with  cochineal. 

XVII. 

And  every  color  that  the  Master  Sun 

Has  painted  and  hung  in  the  halls  of  God, 
Blush'd  in  the  boughs  or  spread  on  the  sod, 

Pictured  and  woven  and  wound  as  one.   . 

XVIII. 

The  tamarind  and  the  cocoa-tree, 

The  quick  cinchona,  the  red  sangre, 

The  keen  caressa,  the  sycamore, 

Were  woof  and  warp  as  wide  as  the  shore. 

XIX. 

The  palm-trees  lorded  the  copse  like  kings, 
Their  tall  tops  tossing  the  indolent  clouds 
That  folded  the  Isle  in  the  dawn,  like  shrouds, 

Then  fled  from  the  sun  like  to  living  things. 

The  cockatoo  swung  in  the  vines  below, 
And  muttering  hung  on  a  golden  thread, 

Or  moved  on  the  moss'd  bough  to  and  fro, 
In  plumes  of  gold  and  array'd  in  red. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  6 1 

xx. 

The  lake  lay  hidden  away  from  the  light, 
As  asleep  in  the  Isle  from  the  tropical  noon, 
And  narrow  and  bent  like  a  new-born  moon, 

And  fair  as  a  moon  in  the  noon  of  the  night. 

XXI. 

'Twas  shadow'd  by  forests,  and  fringed  by  ferns, 
And  fretted  anon  by  the  fishes  that  leapt 
At  indolent  flies  that  slept  or  kept 

Their  drowsy  tones  on  the  tide  by  turns. 

XXII. 

And  here  in  the  dawn  when  the  day  was  strong 

And  newly  aroused  from  leafy  repose, 

With  dews  on  his  feet  and  tints  of  the  rose 
In  his  great  flush'd  face,  was  a  sense  and  song 
That  the  tame  old  world  has  nor  known  nor  heard 

The  soul  was  fill'd  with  the  soft  perfumes, 
The  eloquent  wings  of  the  humming  bird 
Beguiled  the  heart,  they  purpled  the  air 
And  allured  the  eye,  as  so  everywhere 
On  the  rim  of  the  wave,  or  across  it  in  swings, 

They  swept  or  they  sank  in  a  sea  of  blooms, 
And  wove  and  wound  in  a  song  of  wings. 


62  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 


XXIII. 


The  senses  drank  of  the  fragrance  deep, 
The  glad  soul  question'd  it  whether  or  no 
It  had  risen  above  or  yet  dwelt  below, 

Or  whether  to  laugh  for  love  or  to  weep. 


XXIV. 

A  bird  in  scarlet  and  gold,  made  mad 

With  sweet  delights,  through  the  branches  slid 
And  kiss'd  the  lake  on  a  drowsy  lid 

Till  the  ripples  ran  and  the  face  was  glad : 

XXV. 

Was  glad  and  lovely  as  lights  that  sweep 
The  face  of  heaven  when  stars  are  forth 
In  autumn  time  through  the  awful  north, 

Or  the  face  of  a  child  when  it  smiles  in  sleep. 

XXVI. 

And  here  was  the  Queen,  in  the  tropical  noon, 

When  the  wave  and  the  world  and  all  were  asleep, 
And  nothing  look'd  forth  to  betray  or  to  peep 

Through  glories  of  jungle  in  garments  of  June, 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  63 

To  bathe  with  her  court  in  the  waters  that  bent 
In  the  beautiful  lake  through  tasselling  trees, 
And  the  tangle  of  blooms  in  a  burden  of  bees, 
As  bold  and  as  sharp  as  a  bow  unspent. 

XXVII. 

And  strangely  still,  and  more  strangely  sweet, 
Was  the  lake  that  lay  in  its  cradle  of  fern, 
As  still  as  a  moon  with  her  horns  that  turn 

In  the  night,  like  lamps  to  some  delicate  feet. 

XXVIII. 

They  came  and  they  stood  by  the  brink  of  the  tide, 

They  hung  their  shields  on  the  boughs  of  the  trees, 
They  lean'd  their  lances  against  the  side, 

Unloosed  their  sandals,  and  busy  as  bees 
That  ply  with  industrious  wing  perfumes, 

TJngather'd  their  robes  in  the  rustle  of  leaves 
And  nodding  of  reeds  and  the  beautiful  blooms 

That  wound  them  as  close  as  the  wine-vine  weaves. 

XXIX. 

The  minstrel  had  falter'd,  and  further  aside 

Than  ever  before  he  averted  his  head ; 
He  pick'd  up  a  pebble  and  fretted  the  tide, 

Then  turn'd  with  a  countenance  flush'd  and  red. 


64  ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS. 


XXX. 


He  feign'd  him  ill,  he  wandered  away, 
He  sat  him  down  by  the  waters  alone, 

And  prayed  for  pardon,  as  a  knight  should  pray, 
And  rued  an  error  not  all  his  own. 


XXXI. 

The  Amazons  press'd  to  the  girdle  of  reeds, 
Two  and  by  two  they  advanced  to  the  wave, 
They  challenged  each  other,  and  bade  be  brave, 

And  banter'd,  and  vaunted  of  valorous  deeds. 

XXXII. 

They  push'd  and  they  parted  the  curtains  of  green, 
All  timid  at  first ;  then  look'd  at  the  wave 
And  laugh'd ;  retreated,  then  came  up  brave 

To  the  brink  of  the  water,  led  on  by  their  Queen. 

XXXIII. 

Again  they  retreated,  again  advanced, 

And  parted  the  boughs  in  a  proud  disdain, 

Then  bent  their  heads  to  the  waters,  and  glanced 
Below,  then  blush'd,  and  then  laugh'd  again  ; 


JSLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  65 


XXXIV. 


A  bird  awaken'd,  then  all  dismay'd 

With  a  womanly  sense  of  a  beautiful  shame 
That  strife  and  changes  had  left  the  same, 

They  shrank  to  the  leaves  and  the  sombre  shade. 


xxxv. 


At  last,  press'd  forward  a  beautiful  pair 

And  bent  to  the  wave,  and  bending  they  blush'd 
As  rich  as  the  wines,  when  the  waters  rush'd 

,To  the  dimpled  limbs,  and  laugh'd  in  their  hair. 


xxxvi. 

The  fair  troop  follow'd  with  shouts  and  cheers, 
They  cleft  the  wave,  and  the  friendly  ferns- 
Came  down  in  curtains  and  curves  and  turns, 

And  a  brave  palm  lifted  a  thousand  spears. 

XXXVII. 

From  under  the  ferns  and  away  from  the  land, 
And  out  in  the  wave  until  lost  below, 
There  lay,  as  white  as  a  bank  of  snow, 

A  long  and  a  beautiful  border  of  sand. 

E 


66  ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS. 

XXXVIII. 

Here  clothed  alone  in  their  clouds  of  hair 
And  curtain'd  about  by  the  palm  and  fern, 

And  made  as  their  Maker  had  made  them,  fair, 
And  splendid  of  natural  grace  and  turn ; 

XXXIX. 

Untrammell'd  by  art  and  untroubled  by  man 
They  tested  their  strength,  or  tried  their  speed, 

And  here  they  wrestled,  and  there  they  ran, 
As  supple  and  lithe  as  the  watery  reed. 

XL. 

The  great  trees  shadow'd  the  bow-tipp'd  tide, 
And  nodded  their  plumes  from  the  opposite  side, 
As  if  to  whisper,  Take  care  !  take  care ! 
But  the  meddlesome  sunshine  here  and  there, 
Kept  pointing  a  finger  right  under  the  trees,  — 
Kept  shifting  the  branches  and  wagging  a  hand 
At  the  round  brown  limbs  on  the  border  of  sand, 
And  seem'd  to  whisper,  Ho !  what  are  these  ? 

XLI. 

The  gold-barr'd  butterflies  to  and  fro 

And  over  the  waterside  wander'd  and  wove 
As  heedless  and  idle  as  clouds  that  rove 

And  drift  by  the  peaks  of  perpetual  snow. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  '67 

XLII. 

A  monkey  swung  out  from  a  bough  in  the  skies, 
White-whisker'd  and  ancient,  and  wisest  of  all 
Of  his  populous  race,  and  he  heard  them  call 

And  he  watch'd  them  long,  with  his  head  sidewise, 

From  under  his  brows  of  amber  and  brown, 
All  patient  and  silent  and  never  once  stirr'd ; 

Then  he  shook  his  head  and  he  hasten'd  him  down 
To  his  army  below  and  said  never  a  word. 


ISLES     OF    THE    AMAZONS. 
PART  IV. 


There  is  many  a  love  in  the  land,  my  love, 

But  never  a  love  like  this  is  ; 
Then  kill  me  dead  with  your  love,  my  love, 

And  cover  me  up  with  kisses. 

So  kill  me  dead  and  cover  me  deep 
Where  never  a  soul  discovers ; 

Deep  in  your  heart  to  sleep,  to  sleep 
In  the  darlingest  tomb  of  lovers. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 


PRELUDE. 

TT  seems  to  me  that  Mother  Earth 

Is  weary  from  eternal  toil 
And  bringing  forth  by  fretted  soil 
In  all  the  agonies  of  birth. 
Sit  down !  sit  down !   Lo,  it  were  best 
That  we  should  rest,  that  she  should  rest 

Let  buffalo  possess  the  land, 

Let  foxes  populate  the  towns, 

And  wild  deer  wander  through  the  downs. 

Here  we  will  laugh,  nor  lift  a  hand ; 

And  laugh  that  man  should  ever  care 

For  flock  or  field  or  mansion  fair ! 

No  ship  shall  founder  in  the  seas, 
Nor  soldier  fall  in  martial  line, 
Nor  miner  perish  in  the  mine. 
Here  we  shall  tent  beneath  the  trees, 


72  ISLES    OF   THE    AMAZONS. 

Where  wife  nor  maid  shall  wait  or  weep, 
For  Earth  shall  sleep,  and  all  shall  sleep. 

I  think  we  then  shall  all  be  glad, 
At  least  I  know  we  are  not  now ; 
Not  one.     And  even  Earth  somehow 
Seems  growing  old  and  over  sad. 
Then  fold  your  hands,  for  it  were  best 
That  we  should  rest,  that  she  should  rest. 


PART  IV. 


HT^HE  wanderer  took  him  apart  from  the  place ; 

He  look'd  up  in  the  boughs  at  the  gold  birds 

there, 

He  counted  the  humming-birds  fretting  the  air, 
And  brush'd  at  the  butterflies  fanning  his  face. 

11. 

He  sat  him  down  in  a  crook  of  the  wave 

And  away  from  the  Amazons,  under  the  skies 

Where  great  trees  curved  to  a  leaf-lined  cave, 
And  lifted  his  hands  and  shaded  his  eyes  ; 

in. 

And  he  held  his  head  to  the  north  when  they  came 
To  run  on  the  reaches  of  sand  from  the  south, 
And  he  pulPd  at  his  chin,  and  he  pursed  his  mouth, 

And  he  shut  his  eyes  with  a  shudder  of  shame. 
4 


74  ISLES    OF    THE'  AMAZONS. 

He  reach'd  from  the  bank  and  he  brake  him  a  reed  — 
A  bamboo  reed  —  from  the  brink  below ; 

And  he  notched  it  and  trimm'd  it  with  all  his  speed, 
And  lifted  it  up  and  began  to  blow 

As  if  to  himself;  as  the  sea  sometimes 

Does  soothe  and  soothe  in  a  low,  sweet  song, 
When  his  rage  is  spent,  and  the  beach  swells  strong 

With  sweet  repetitions  of  alliterate  rhymes. 

IV. 

The  echoes  blew  back  from  the  indolent  land ; 
Silent  and  still  sat  the  tropical  bird, 
And  only  the  sound  of  the  reed  was  heard, 

As  the  Amazons  ceased  from  their  sports  on  the  sand. 

v. 

They  rose  from  the  wave,  and  inclining  the  head, 
They  listen'd  intent,  with  the  delicate  tip 
Of  the  finger  touch'd  to  the  pouting  lip, 

Till  the  brown  Queen  turn'd  in  the  tide,  and  led 

Through  the  opaline  lake,  and  under  the  shade, 
And  along  the  shore,  and  below  the  ferns 
Where  the  bent  boughs  reach'd  and  return' d  by  turns, 

To  the  shore  where  the  chivalrous  singer  played. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  ?$ 

VI. 

lie  bended  his  head  and  he  shaded  his  eyes 
As  well  as  he  might  with  his  lifted  fingers, 

And  ceased  to  sing.     But  in  mute  surprise, 
He  saw  them  linger  as  a  child  that  lingers 
Allured  by  a  song  thrown  down  to  the  street, 

And  looks  bewilder' d  about  from  its  play, 
For  the  last  loved  notes  that  fall  at  its  feet ; 

And  he  heard  them  whisper,  he  saw  them  sway 
Aside  and  before  and  silent  and  sweet. 

vn. 

The  soft  notes  swell'd,  and  the  air  swept  loud, 
They  drew  to  the  sound  as  if  borne  in  a  dream ; 

As  blown  in  the  purple  and  gold  of  a  cloud, 
Or  borne  on  the  breast  of  a  crystalline  stream. 


VIII. 

But  the  singer  was  vexed ;  he  averted  his  head ; 
He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  mosses  aside 
For  a  brief,  little  time,  but  they  turn'd  to  the  tide 

In  spite  of  his  will,  or  of  prayers  well  said. 


76  ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS. 


-. 


IX. 

He  press'd  four  fingers  against  each  lid, 
Till  the  light  was  gone ;  yet  for  all  that  he  did 
It  seem'd  that  the  lithe  forms  lay  and  beat 
Afloat  in  his  face  and  full  under  his  feet. 

x. 

He  seem'd  to  behold  the  billowy  breasts, 
And  the  rounded  limbs  in  their  pure  unrests  — 
To  see  them  swim  as  the  mermaid  swims, 
With  the  drifting  dimpled,  delicate  limbs, 
Folded  and  hidden  in  robes  of  hair; 
While  fishes  of  gold  shot  here  and  there 
Below  their  breasts  and  above  their  feet, 
Like  birds  in  a  beautiful  garden  of  sweet. 

XI. 

It  seems  to  me  there  is  more  that  sees 

Than  the  eyes  in  man ;  you  may  close  your  eyes, 
You  may  turn  your  back,  and  may  still  be  wise 

In  sacred  and  marvellous  mysteries. 

XII. 

He  saw  as  one  sees  the  sun  of  a  noon 
In  the  sun-kiss'd  south,  when  the  eyes  are  closed  • 


ISLES    OF   THE   AMAZONS.  77 

He  saw  as  one  sees  the  bars  of  a  moon 

That  fall  through  the  boughs  of  the  tropical  ^trees, 

When  he  lies  at  length,  and  is  all  composed, 
And  asleep  in  his  hammock  by  the  sundown  seas. 

XIII. 

He  heard  the  waters  beat,  bubble  and  fret ; 
He  lifted  his  eyes,  yet  forever  they  lay 
Afloat  in  the  tide ;  and  he  turn'd  him  away 

And  resolved  to  fly  and  for  aye  to  forget. 

XIV. 

He  rose  up  strong,  and  he  cross'd  him  twice, 
He  nerved  his  heart  and  he  lifted  his  head, 

He  crush'd  the  treacherous  reed  in  a  trice, 
With  an  angry  foot,  and  he  turn'd  and  fled ; 

xv. 
And  flying,  confused  like  a  pitiful  slave, 

He  questioned  himself  most  sore  as  he  fled, 
If  he  most  was  a  knight,  or  most  was  a  knave,  — 

And  flying  he  hurriedly  turn'd  his  head 
Back  over  his  shoulder,  and  sudden  aside, 

With  an  eager  glance,  with  meddlesome  eyes, 

As  a  woman  will  turn :  and  he  saw  arise 
The  beautiful  Queen  from  the  silvery  tide. 


78  ISLES    OF   THE   AMAZONS. 

XVI. 

She  toss'd  her  hair,  and  she  turn'd  her  eyes 
With  all  of  their  splendor  to  his  as  he  fled, 

And  all  their  glory,  and  a  strange  surprise, 
And  a  sad  reproach  and  a  world  unsaid. 

XVII. 

He  beat  on  their  shields,  they  rose  in  array, 

As  aroused  from  a  trance,  and  hurriedly  came 
From  out  of  the  wave  and  he  wander'd  away, 

Wild-fretting  his  sensitive  soul  with  blame, 
Until  all  array'd ;  then  ill  and  opprest, 

And  bitterly  cursing  the  treacherous  reed, 
Return'd  with  his  hand  on  his  turbulent  breast, 

And  struck  to  the  heart,  and  most  ill  indeed. 

XVIII. 

Alone  he  would  sit  in  the  shadows  at  noon, 
Alone  he  would  sit  by  the  waters  at  night ; 
Would  sing  sad-voiced,  as  a  woman  might, 

With  pale,  kind  face  to  the  cold,  pale  moon. 

XIX. 

He  would  here  advance,  and  would  there  retreat, 
As  a  petulant  child  that  has  lost  its  way 
In  the  redolent  walks  of  a  sultry  day, 

And  wanders  around  with  irresolute  feet. 


ISLES    OF    TfJE    AMAZONS.  79 


xx. 

He  would  press  his  hand  in  pain  to  his  heart, 
He  would  fold  his  hands,  he  would  toss  his  hair 

From  his  brow,  then  turn  to  the  palms,  and  apart 
From  eyes  that  pursued,  with  a  pitiful  air. 

XXI. 

He  made  him  a  harp  of  mahogany  wood, 
He  strung  it  well  with  the  sounding  strings 
Of  the  ostrich  thews,  from  the  ostrich  wings, 

And  play'd  and  sang  in  a  sad  sweet  rune. 
He  hang'd  his  harp  in  the  vines,  and  stood 

By  the  tide  at  night,  in  the  palms  at  noon, 
And  lone  as  a  ghost  in  the  shadowy  wood. 

XXII. 

Then  two  grew  sad,  and  alone  sat  she 

By  the  great,  strong  stream,  and  she  bow'4  her  head, 

Then  lifted  her  face  to  the  tide  and  said, 
"  O,  pure  as  a  tear  and  as  strong  as  a  sea, 

Yet  tender  to  me  as  the  touch  of  a  dove, 
I  had  rather  sit  sad  and  alone  by  thee, 

Than  to  go  and  be  glad,  with  a  legion  in  love." 


80  ISLES    OF   THE   AMAZONS. 

xxm. 
She  sat  sometime  at  the  wanderer's  side 

As  the  kingly  water  went  wandering  by ; 

And  the  two  once  look'd,  and  they  knew  not  why, 
Full  sad  in  each  other's  eyes,  and  they  sigh'd. 

XXIV. 

She  courted  the  solitude  under  the  rim 

Of  the  trees  that  reach'd  to  the  resolute  stream, 
And  gazed  in  the  waters  as  one  in  a  dream, 

Till  her  soul  grew  heavy  and  her  eyes  grew  dim 

To  the  fair  delights  of  her  own  fair  Isles. 
She  turn'd  her  face  to  the  stranger  again, 

He  cheer'd  with  song  and  allured  with  smiles, 
But  cheer'd,  and  allured,  and  soothed  in  vain. 

xxv. 
She  bow'd  her  head  with  a  beautiful  grief 

That  grew  from  her  pity ;  she  forgot  her  arms, 

And  she  made  neglect  of  the  battle  alarms 
That  threaten'd  the  land ;  the  banana's  leaf 
Made  shelter;  he  lifted  his  harp  again, 

She  sat,  she  listen'd  intent  and  long, 
Forgetting  her  care  and  forgetting  her  pain  — 

Made  sad  for  the  singer,  made  glad  from  his  song. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  Si 


XXVI. 


But  the  braves  waxed  cold ;  the  white  moons  waned, 
And  the  brown  Queen  marshall'd  them  never  once 

more, 

With  sword  and  with  shield,  in  the  palms  by  the 
shore ; 

But  they  sat  them  down\o  repose,  or  remained 

Apart  and  scatter' d  in  the  tropic-leaf  d  trees, 
As  sadden'd  by  song,  or  for  loves  delay'd, 
Or  away  in  the  Isle  in  couples  they  stray'd, 

Not  at  all  content  in  their  Isles  of  peace. 


xxvii. 

They  wander'd  away  to  the  lakes  once  more, 
Or  walk'd  in  the  moon,  or  they  sigh'd,  or  slept, 

Or  they  sat  in  pairs  by  the  shadowy  shore, 
And  silent  song  Avith  the  waters  kept. 

XXVIII. 

There  was  one  who  stood  by  the  waters  one  eve, 

With  the  stars  on  her  hair,  and  the  bars  of  the  moon 
Broken  up  at  her  feet  by  the  bountiful  boon 

Of  extending  old  trees,  who  did  questioning  grieve : 
4*  F 


82  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

"  The  birds  they  go  over  us  two  and  by  two ; 
The  mono  is  mated ;  his  bride  in  the  boughs 
Sits  nursing  his  babe,  and  his  passionate  vows 

Of  love,  you  may  hear  them  the  whole  day  through. 

"  The  lizard,  the  cayman,  the  white-toothed  boar, 
The  serpents  that  glide  in  the  sword-leaf'd  grass, 
The  beasts  that  abide  or  the  birds  that  pass, 

They  are  glad  in  their  loves  as  the  green-leaf 'd  shore. 

"  There  is  nothing  that  is  that  can  yield  one  bliss 
Like  an  innocent  love ;  the  leaves  have  tongue 
And  the  tides  talk  low  in  the  reeds,  and  the  young 

And  the  quick  buds  open  their  lips  but  for  this. 

"In  the  steep  and  the  starry  .silences, 

-  On  the  stormy  levels  of  the  limitless  seas, 

Or  here  in  the  deeps  of  the  dark-brow'd  trees, 
There  is  nothing  so  much  as  a  brave  man's  kiss. 

"  There  is  nothing  so  strong,  in  the  stream,  on  the  land, 
In  the  valley  of  palms,  on  the  pinnacled  snow, 
In  the  clouds  of  the  gods,  on  the  grasses  below, 

As  the  silk-soft  touch  of  a  baby's  brown  hand. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  83 

« It  were  better  to  sit  and  to  spin  on  a  stone 

The  whole  year  through  with  a  babe  at  the  knee, 
With  its  brown  hands  reaching  caressingly, 

Than  to  sit  in  a  girdle  of  gold  and  alone. 

4  O  barren  dull  days,  where  never  the  brown 
Sweet  hand  of  a  babe  hides  back  in  the  hair 
When  a  mother  comes  home  with  her  burthen  of  care, 

And  over  the  life  of  her  life  bends  down. 

"  It  were  better  perhaps  to  be  mothers  of  men, 

And  to  murmur  not  much ;  there  are  clouds  in  the 


sun. 


Can  a  woman  undo  what  the  gods  have  done  ? 
Nay,  the  things  must  be  as  the  things  have  been." 

XXIX. 

They  wander'd  well  forth,  some  here  and  some  there, 
Unsatisfied  some  and  irresolute  all.     , 
The  sun  was  the  same,  the  moonlight  did  fall 

Rich-barr'd  and  refulgent ;  the  stars  were  as  fair 

As  ever  were  stars ;  the  fruitful  clouds  cross' d 
And  the  harvest  fail'd  not ;  yet  the  fair  Isle  grew 
As  a  prison  to  all,  and  they  search'd  on  through 

The  magnificent  shades  as  for  things  that  were  lost. 


84  ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS. 

XXX. 

The  minstrel,  more  pensive,  went  deep  in  the  wood, 
And  oft-time  delay'd  him  the  whole  day  through, 
As  charm'd  by  the  deeps,  or  the  sad  heart  drew 

Some  solaces  sweet  from  the  solitude. 

XXXI. 

The  singer  forsook  them  at  last,  and  the  Queen 
Came  seldom  then  forth  from  the  fierce  deep  wood, 
And  her  warriors,  dark-brow'd  and  bewildering  stood 

In  bands  by  the  wave  in  the  complicate  screen 

Of  overbent  boughs.     They  would  lean  on  their  spears 
And  would  talk  sometimes  low-voiced  and  by  twos, 
As  allured  by  Jongings  they  could  not  refuse, 

And  would  sidewise  look,  as  beset  by  their  fears. 

XXXII. 

They  wander' d  and  watched  as  the  days  waxed  full, 
All  listless  and  slow,  and  spurning  the  shells 
With  brown  sandall'd  feet,  to  the  whimsical  swell 

Of  the  wine-dark  wave  with  its  foam  like  wool. 

xxxin. 

Once,  wearied  and  sad,  by  the  shadowy  trees 
In  the  flush  of  the  sun  they  sank  to  their  rests, 
The  dark  hair  veiling  the  beautiful  breasts 

That  arose  in  billows,  as  mists  veil  seas. 


ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS.  85 


xxxiv. 


Then  away  to  the  dream-world  one  and  by  one ; 
The  great  red  sun  in  his  purple  was  roll'd, 
And  red-wing'd  birds  and  the  birds  of  gold 

Were  above  in  the  trees  like  the  beams  of  the  sun. 


XXXV. 


Then  the  sun  came  down,  with  his  ladders  of  gold 
Built  up  of  his  beams,  and  the  souls  arose 
And  ascended  on  these,  and  the  fair  repose 

Of  the  negligent  forms  was  a  feast  to  behold. 


XXXVI. 


The  round  brown  limbs  they  were  reached  or  drawn, 
The  grass  made  dark  with  the  fervor  of  hair ; 
And  here  were  the  rose-red  ifps,  and  there 

A  flushed  breast  rose  like  a  sun  at  a  dawn. 


XXXVII. 


The  copper-bound  shields  lay  silent  beside, 

Their  lances  were  lean'd  to  the  leaning  old  trees, 
While  away  in  the  sun  an  irresolute  breeze 

With  a  rippled  quick  step  stole  over  the  tide. 


86  ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS. 


XXXVIII. 

Then  black-wing'd  birds  blew  over  in  pair, 
Listless  and  slow,  as  they  call'd  of  the  seas, 
And  sounds  came  down  through  the  tangle  of  trees 

As  lost,  and  nestled  and  hid  in  their  hair. 


xxxix. 

They  started  disturbed,  they  sprang  as  at  war 
To  lance  and  to  shield;  but  the  dolorous  sound 
Was  gone  from  the  wood ;  they  gazed  around 

And  saw  but  the  birds,  black- winged  and  afar. 

XL. 

They  gazed  at  each  other,  then  turn'd  them  unheard, 
Slow  trailing  their  lances  in  long  single  line ; 
They  moved  through  the  forest,  all  dark  as  the  siga 

Of  death  that  fell  down  from  the  ominous  bird. 

XLI. 

Then  the  great  sun  died,  and  a  rose-red  bloom 
Grew  over  his  grave  in  a  border  of  gold, 
And  a  cloud  with  a  silver-white  rim  was  roll'd 

Like  a  cold  gray  stone  at  the  door  of  a  tomb. 


ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS.  8/ 


XLII. 


Then  away  on  the  wave  the  invisible  night, 
With  her  eyes  of  stars  and  her  storms  of  hair, 
Sail'd  on  in  her  wonderful  ships  of  air, 

And  the  Isle  lay  dimpled  in  calm  delight. 


XLIII. 


Strange  voices  were  heard,  sad  visions  were  seen, 
By  sentries,  betimes,  on  the  opposite  shore, 

Where  broad  boughs  bended  their  curtains  of  green 
Far  over  the  wave  with  their  tropical  store. 


XLIV. 


A  sentry  bent  low  on  her  palms  and  she  peer'd 
Suspiciously  through ;  and,  heavens !  a  man, 

Low-brow'd  and  wicked,  look'd  backward,  and  jeer'd 
And  taunted  right  full  in  her  face  as  he  ran : 


XLV. 


A  low  crooked  man,  with  eyes  like  a  bird,  — 

As  round  and  as  cunning,  -7-  who  came  from  the  land 
Of  lakes,  where  the  clouds  lie  low  and  at  hand, 

And  the  songs  of  the  bent  black  swans  are  heard  ; 


88  ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS. 


XL  VI. 


Where  men  are  most  cunning  and  cruel  withal, 
And  are  famous  as  spies,  and  are  supple  and  fleet, 
And  are  webb'd  like  the  water-fowl  under  the  feet, 

And  they  swim  like  the  swans,  and  like  pelicans  call. 


XL  VII. 


And  again,  on  a  night  when  the  moon  she  was  not, 
A  sentry  saw  stealing,  as  still  as  a  dream, 
A  sudden  canoe  down  the  mid  of  the  stre  ^m, 

Like  gleamings  of  light,  and  as  swift  as  a  thought. 


XLVIII. 


And  lo !  as  it  pass'd,  from  the  prow  there  arose 
A  dreadful  and  gibbering,  hairy  old  man, 
Loud  laughing,  as  only  a  maniac  can, 

And  shaking  a  lance  at  the  land  of  his  foes ; 


XLIX. 


Then  sudden  it  vanished,  as  swift  as  it  came, 

Far  down  through  the  walls  of  the  shadowy  wood, 

And  the  great  moon  rose  like  a  forest  aflame, 
All  threat'ning,  sullen,  and  red  like  blood. 


ISLES     OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

PART "  V. 


Well,  we  have  threaded  through  and  through 
The  gloaming  forests.     Fairy  Isles , 
Afloat  in  sun  and  summer  smiles, 

As  fallen  stars  infields  of  blue; 
Some  futile  wars  with  subtile  love 

That  mortal  never  vanquished  yet, 

Some  symphonies  by  angels  set 
In  wave  below,  in  bough  above, 

Were  yours  and  mine;  but  here  adieu. 

And  if  it  come  to  pass  some  days 

That  you  grow  weary,  sad,  and  you 
Lift  up  deep  eyes  from  dusty  ways 

Of  mart  and  moneys,  to  the  blue 
And  pure  cool  waters,  isle  and  vine, 

And  bathe  you  there,  and  then  arise 
Refresh' d  by  one  fresh  thought  of  mine, 

I  rest  content ;  I  kiss  your  eyes, 
I  kiss  your  hair,  in  my  delight  : 
I  kiss  my  hand,  and  say,  "  Good-night.1 

May  love  be  thine  by  sun  or  moon, 
May  peace  be  thine  by  peaceful  way 
Through  all  the  darling  days  of  May, 

Through  all  the  genial  days  of  June, 
To  golden  days  that  die  in  smiles 
Of  sunset  on  the  blessed  Isles. 


ISLES  OF  THE  AMAZONS. 


PRELUDE. 

"\T  THEN  spires  shall  shine  on  the  Amazon's  shore, 
*  *     From  temples  of  God,  and  time  shall  have  roll'd 
Like  a  scroll  from  the  border  the  limitless  wold ; 
When  the  tiger  is  tamed,  and  the  mono  no  more 

Swings  over  the  waters  to  chatter  and  call 
To  the  crocodile  sleeping  in  rushes  and  fern ; 
When  cities  shall  gleam,  and  their  battlements  burn 

In  the  sunsets  of  gold,  where  the  cocoa-nuts  fall ; 

'Twill  be  something  to  lean  from  the  stars  and  to  know 
That  the  engine,  red-mouthing  with  turbulent  tongue, 

The  white  ships  that  come,  and  the  cargoes  that  go, 
We   invoked  them   of  old   when  the  nations  were 
young : 


92  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

'Twill  be  something  to  know  that  we  named  them  of 

old,— 

That  we  said  to  the  nations,  Lo !  here  is  the  fleece 
That  allures  to  the  rest,  and  the  perfectest  peace, 

With  its  foldings  of  sunlight  shed  mellow  like  gold  : 

That  we  were  the  Carsons  in  kingdoms  untrod, 
And  follow'd  the  trail  through  the  rustle  of  leaves, 
And  stood  by  the  wave  where  solitude  weaves 

Her  garments  of  mosses,  and  lonely  as  God : 

That  we  did  make  venture  when  singers  were  young, 
Inviting  from  Europe,  from  long-trodden  lands 
That  are  easy  of  journeys,  and  holy  from  hands 

Laid  upon  by  the  Masters  when  giants  had  tongue  : 

The  prophet  should  lead  us,  —  and  lifting  a  hand 
To  the  world  on  the  way,  like  a  white  guiding  star, 
Point  out  and  allure  to  the  fair  and  unknown, 

And  the  far,  and  the  hidden  delights  of  a  land. 

Behold  my  Sierras !  there  singers  shall  throng ; 

The  Andes  shall  break  through  the  wings  of  the 

night 
As  the  fierce  condor  breaks  through  the  clouds  in  his 

flight; 
And  I  here  plant  the  cross  and  possess  them  with  song. 


PART  V. 


T  TELL  you  that  love  is  the  bitterest  sweet 
•*•     That  ever  laid  hold  on  the  heart  of  a  man  ; 

A  chain  to  the  soul,  and  to  cheer  as  a  ban, 
And  a  bane  to  the  brain,  and  a  snare  to  the  feet. 


n. 


Ay !  who  shall  ascend  on  the  hollow  white  wings 
Of  love  but  to  fall ;  to  fall  and  to  learn, 
Like  a  moth,  and  a  man,  that  the  lights  lure  to  burn, 

That  the  roses  have  thorns,  and  the  honey-bee  stings  ? 


m. 


I  say  to  you  surely  that  grief  shall  befall ; 
I  lift  you  my  finger,  I  caution  you  true, 
And  yet  you  go  forward,  laugh  gayly,  and  you 

Must  learn  for  yourself,  then  mourn  for  us  all. 


94  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 


IV. 


You  had  better  be  drown' d  than  to  love  and  to  dream, 
It  were  better  to  sit  on  a  moss-grown  stone, 
And  away  from  the  sun,  and  forever  alone, 

Slow  pitching  white  pebbles  at  trout  in  the  stream. 

v. 

Alas  for  a  heart  that  is  left  forlorn ! 

If  you  live  you  must  love ;  if  you  love,  regret,  — 
It  were  better,  perhaps,  we  had  never  been  born, 

Or  better,  at  least,  we  could  well  forget. 

VI. 

The  clouds  are  above  us,  and  snowy  and  cold, 
And  what  is  beyond  but  the  steel-gray  sky, 
And  the  still  far  stars  that  twinkle  and  lie 

Like  the  eyes  of  a  love  or  delusions  of  gold ! 

VII. 

Ah  !  who  would  ascend  ?     The  clouds  are  aboVe. 

Ay  !  all  things  perish  ;  to  rise  is  to  fall. 
And  alack  for  lovers,  and  alas  for  love, 
-  And  alas  that  we  ever  were  born  at  all. 


ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS.  95 

VIII. 

The  minstrel  now  stood  by  the  border  of  wood, 
But  not  as  alone  ;  with  a  resolute  heart ; 

He  reach'd  his  hand,  like  to  one  made  strong, 

Forgot  his  silence  and  resumed  his  song, 
And  aroused  his  soul,  and  assumed  his  part 

With  a  passionate  will,  in  the  palms  where  he  stood. 


IX. 

"  She  is  sweet  as  the  breath  of  the  Castile  rose, 
She  is  warm  to  the  heart  as  a  world  of  wine, 

And  as  rich  to  behold  as  the  rose  that  grows 
With  its  red  heart  bent  to  the  tide  of  the  Rhine. 

"  O  hot  blood  born  of  the  heavens  above  ! 

I  shall  drain  her  soul,  I  shall  drink  her  up  ; 
I  shall  love  with  a  searching  and  merciless  love, 

I  shall  sip  her  lips  as  the  brown  bees  sup, 

"  From  the  great  gold  heart  of  the  buttercup  ! 

I  shall  live  and  love  !     I  shall  have  my  day, 
Let  the  suns  fall  down  or  the  moons  rise  up, 

And  die  in  my  time,  and  who  shall  gainsay  ? 


96  ISLES    OF   THE   AMAZONS. 

"  What  boots  me  the  battles  that  I  have  fought 
With  self  for  honor  ?    My  brave  resolves ; 
And  who  takes  note  ?     The  soul  dissolves 

In  a  sea  of  love,  and  the  land  is  forgot. 

"  The  march  of  men,  and  the  drift  of  ships, 
The  dreams  of  fame,  and  desires  for  gold, 
Shall  go  for  aye,  as  a  tale  that  is  told, 

Nor  divide  for  a  day  my  lips  from  her  lips. 

"  And  a  knight  shall  rest,  and  none  shall  say  nay, 
In  a  green  Isle  wash'd  by  an  arm  of  the  seas, 
And  wall'd  from  the  world  by  the  white  Andes, 

For  the  years  are  of  age  and  can  go  their  way." 

x. 

The  sentinel  stood  on  the  farthermost  land, 
And  shouted  aloud  to  the  shadowy  forms : 
"  He  comes,  he  comes,  in  the  strength  of  storms," 

And  struck  her  shield,  and,  her  sword  in  hand, 

XI. 

She  cried,  "  He  comes  with  his  silver  spears, 
With  flint-tipp'd  arrows  and  bended  bows, 

To  take  our  blood,  though  we  give  him  tears, 
And  to  flood  our  Isle  in  a  world  of  woes." 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  97 

XII. 

"  He  comes,  O  Queen  of  the  sun-kiss'd  Isle, 

He  comes  as  a  wind  comes,  blown  from  the  seas, 
In  a  cloud  of  canoes,  on  the  curling  breeze, 

With  his  shields  of  tortoise  and  of  crocodile." 

XIII. 

She  dared  them  come  like  a  storm  of  seas, 

To  come  as  the  winds  come,  fierce  and  frantic ; 
As  sounding  down  to  the  far  Atlantic, 

And  sounding  away  to  the  deep  Andes. 

XIV. 

She  rush'd  her  down  where  the  white  tide  ran, 
She  breasted  away  where  the  breakers  reel'd, 

She  shook  her  sword  in  the  foeman's  van, 

And  beat,  as  the  waves  beat,  sword  on  shield. 


xv. 

Sweeter  than  swans  are  a  maiden's  graces ! 

Sweeter  than  fruits  are  the  kisses  of  morn ! 

Sweeter  than  babes  is  a  love  new-born, 
But  sweeter  than  all  are  a  love's  embraces. 
6  G 


98  ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS. 


XVI. 

She  slept  at  peace,  and  the  sentries'  warning 
Could  hardly  awaken  the  splendid  Queen ; 
She  slept  in  peace  in  the  opaline 

Hush  and  blush  of  the  tropic  morning ; 

XVII. 

And  bound  about  by  the  twining  glory, 
Vine  and  trellis  in  the  vernal  morn, 
As  still  and  sweet  as  a  babe  new-born, 

The  brown  Queen  dream'd  of  the  old  new  story. 

XVIII. 

But  hark !  her  sentry's  passionate  words, 
The  sound  of  shields,  and  the  clash  of  swords ! 
And  slow  she  comes,  her  head  on  her  breast, 
And  her  two  hands  held  as  to  plead  for  rest. 

XIX. 

Where,  O  where,  are  the  Juno  graces  ? 

Where,  O  where,  is  the  glance  of  Jove, 
When  the  Queen  comes  forth  from  the  sacred  places, 

Hidden  away  in  the  heart  of  the  grove  ? 


ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS.  99 

xx. 

Too  deep,  too  deep,  of  the  waters  of  love, 
The  beautiful  woman  had  drunk  in  the  wood : 
The  dangerous,  wonderful  waters  that  fill 
The  soul  with  wine  that  subdues  the  will. 
She  doubled  her  hands  and  she  helpless' stood, 
With  her  head  held  down  and  her  hands  above. 


XXI. 

They  rallied  around  as  of  old,  —  they  besought  her, 
With  swords  to  the  sun  and  the  sounding  shield, 
To  lead  them  again  to  .the  glorious  field, 

So  sacred  to  Freedom;  and,  breathless,  they  brought 
her 

Her  buckler  and  sword,  and  her  armor  all  bright 
With  a  thousand  gems  enjewell'd  in  gold. 
She  lifted  her  head  with  the  look  of  old, 

An  instant  only ;  with  all  of  her  might 

She  sought  to  be  strong  and  majestic  again  : 

She   bared   them   her   arms  and  her  ample   brown 

breast ; 
They  lifted  her  armor,  they  strove  to  invest 

Her  form  in  armor,  but  they  strove  in  vain ; 


100  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 

XXII. 

It  closed  no  more,  but  clanged  on  the  ground, 
Like  the  fall  of  a  knight,  with  an  ominous  sound, 
And  she  shook  her  hair  and  she  cried,  "  Alas ! 
That  love  should  come  and  that  life  should  pass  ; " 
And  she  cried,  "  Alas  !  to  be  cursed  .  .  .  and  bless'd, 
For  the  nights  of  love  and  the  noons  of  rest." 

XXIII. 

Her  warriors  wonder'd  ;  they  wandered  apart, 
And  trail'd  their  swords,  and  subdued  their  eyes 
To  earth  in  sorrow  and  in  hush'd  surprise, 

And  forgot  themselves  in  their  pity  of  heart. 

XXIV. 

"  O  Isles  of  the  sun,"  cried  the  blue-eyed  youth, 
"  O  Edens  new-made  and  let  down  from  above ! 
Be  sacred  to  peace  and  to  passionate  love, 

Made  happy  in  peace  and  made  holy  with  truth. 

xxv. 
"  O  gardens  of  God,  new-planted  below ! 

Shall  rivers  be  red  ?     Shall  day  be  night  ?  " 
He  stood  in  the  wood  with  his  face  to  the  foe, 

Apart  with  his  buckler  and  sword  for  the  fight. 


ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS.  IOI 

XXVI. 

But  the  fair  Isle  fill'd  with  the  fierce  invader ; 

They  form'd  on  the  strand,  they  lifted  their  spears, 
Where  never  was  man  for  years  and  for  years, 

And  moved  on  the  Queen.     She  lifted  and  laid  her 

Finger-tip  to  her  lips.     For  O  sweet 

Was  the  song  of  love,  and  the  song  new-born, 
That  the  minstrel  blew  in  the  virgin  morn, 

Away  where  the  trees  and  the  soft  sands  meet. 

XXVII. 

The  strong  men  lean'd  and  their  shields  let  fall, 
And  slowly  they  moved  with  their  trailing  spears, 
And  heads  bow'd  down  as  if  bent  with  years, 

And  an  air  of  gentleness  over  them  all. 

XXVIII. 

The  men  grew  glad  as  the  song  ascended, 
They  lean'd  their  lances  against  the  palms, 
They  reach'd  their  arms  as  to  reach  for  alms, 

And  the  Amazons  came  —  and  their  reign  was  ended. 

XXIX. 

They  reach'd  their  arms  to  the  arms  extended, 
Put  by  their  swords,  and  LIO  more  seem'd  sad, 

But  moved  as  the  men  moved,  tall  and  splendid,  — 
Mingled  together,  and.  were  all  made  glad. 


102  ISLES    OF    THE    AMAZONS. 


XXX. 

Then  the  Queen  stood  tall,  as  of  old  she  had  stood, 
With  her  face  to  the  sun  and  her  breast  to  the  foe ; 
Then  moved  like  a  king,  unheeding  and  slow, 

And  aside  to  the  singer  in  the  fringe  of  the  wood. 

XXXI. 

She  led  him  forth,  and  she  bade  him  sing  : 

Then  bade  him  cease  ;  and  the  gold  of  his  hair 
She   touch'd   with    her  hands ;   she   embraced  him 
there, 

Then  lifted  her  voice  and  proclaim' d  him  King. 

xx  xn. 

And  the  men  made  fair  in  their  new-found  loves, 
They  all  cried,  "  King !  "  and  again  and  again, 
Cried,  "Long   may   they   live,    and  long  may  they 
reign, 

As  true  in  their  loves  as  the  red-bill'd  doves  : 

XXXIII. 

"  Ay,  long  may  they  live,  and  long  may  they  love, 
And  their  blue-eyed  babes  with  the  years  increase, 
And  we  all  have  love,  and  we  all  have  peace, 

While  the  seas  are  below  or  the  sun  is  above. 


ISLES    OF    THE   AMAZONS.  103 


xxxiv. 


"  Let  the  winds  blow  fair  and  the  fruits  be  gold, 
And  the  gods  be  gracious  to  King  and  to  Queen, 
While  the  tides  are  gray  or  the  Isles  are  green, 

Or  the  moons  wax  new,  or  the  moons  wane  old  ! " 


xxxv. 


The  tawny  old  crone  here  lays  her  stone 
On  the  leaning  grass  and  reaches  a  hand ; 
The  day  like  a  beautiful  dream  has  flown, 
The  curtains  of  night  come  down  on  the  land, 
And  I  dip  to  the  oars  ;  but  ere  I  go, 
I  tip  her  an  extra  bright  pesos  or  so, 
And  I  smile  my  thanks,  for  I  think  them  due  • 
But,  fairest  of  readers,  now  what  think  you  ? 


FROM    SEA    TO     SEA, 


5* 


We  glide  through  golden  seas  of  grain  ; 
We  slioot,~a  shining  comet,  through 
The  mountain  range  against  the  bfye 
And  then  below  the- walls  of  snow, 
We  blow  the  desert  dust  amain  ;  . 
We  brush  the  gay  madrona  tree, 
We  greet  the  orange  groves  below,  — 
We  rest  beneath  the  oaks  ;  and  we 
Have  cleft  a  continent  in  twain. 


FROM    SEA    TO    SEA. 


OIIAKE  hands!  kiss  hands  in  haste  to  the  sea, 

Where  the  sun  comes  in,  and  mount  with  me 
The  matchless  steed  of  the  strong  New  World, 
That  champs  and  chafes  with  a  strength  untold, — 
And  away  to  the  West,  where  the  waves  are  curl'd, 
As  they  kiss  white  palms  to  the  capes  of  gold ! 
A  girth  of  brass  and  a  breast  of  steel, 
A  breath  of  fire  and  a  flaming  mane, 
An  iron  hoof  and  a  steel-clad  heel, 
A  Mexican  bit  and  a  massive  chain 
Well  tried  and  wrought  in  an  iron  rein  ; 
And  away !  away !  with  a  shout  and  yell 
That  had  stricken  a  legion  of  old  with  fear, 
That  had  started  the  dead  from  their  graves  whilere, 
And  startled  the  damn'd  in  hell  as  well. 

Stand  up !  stand  out !  where  the  wind  comes  in, 
And  the  wealth  of  the  seas  pours  over  you, 
As  its  health  floods  up  to  the  face  like  wine, 
And  a  breath  Wows  up  from  the  Delaware 


108  FROM   SEA    TO    SEA. 

And  the  Susquehanna.     We  feel  the  might 

Of  armies  in  us  ;  the  blood  leaps  through 

The  frame  with  a  fresh  and  a  keen  delight 

As  the  Alleghanies  have  kiss'd  the  hair, 

With  a  kiss  blown  far  through  the  rush  and  din, 

By  the  chestnut  burs  and  through  boughs  of  pine. 

ii. 

O  seas  in  a  land  !  O  lakes  of  mine  ! 
By  the  love  I  bear  and  the  songs  I  bring 
Be  glad  with  me !  lift  your  waves  and  sing 
A  song  in  the  reeds  that  surround  your  isles !  — 
A  song  of  joy  for  this  sun  that  smiles, 
For  this  land  I  love  and  this  age  and  sign  ; 
For  the  peace  that  is  and  the  perils  pass'd ; 
For  the  hope  that  is  and  the  rest  at  last ! 

m. 

O  heart  of  the  world's  heart !     West !  my  West ! 
Look  up !  look  out !     There  are  fields  of  kine, 
There  are  clover-fields  that  are  red  as  wine ; 
And  a  world  of  kine  in  the  fields  take  rest, 
And  ruminate  in  the  shade  of  trees 
That  are  white  with  blossoms  or  brown  with  bees. 


FROM   SEA    TO    SEA.  109 

There  are  emerald  seas  of  corn  and  cane ; 
There  are  cotton-fields  like  a  foamy  main, 
To  the  far-off  South  where  the  sun  was  born, 
Where  the  fair  have  birth  and  the  loves  knew  morn. 
There  are  isles  of  oak  and  a  harvest  plain, 
Where  brown  men  bend  to  the  bending  grain  ; 
There  are  temples  of  God  and  towns  new-born, 
And  beautiful  homes  of  beautiful  brides ; 
And  the  hearts  of  oak  and  the  hands  of  horn 
Have  fashion'd  them  all  and  a  world  besides.  .  .  . 
...  A  yell  like  the  yell  of  the  Iroquois, 
And  out  of  Eden,  —  and  Illinois  ! 

IV. 

A  rush  of  rivers  and  a  brush  of  trees, 
A  breath  blown  far  from  the  Mexican  seas, 
And  over  the  great  heart-vein  of  earth ! 
...  By  the  South-Sun-land  of  the  Cherokee, 
By  the  scalp-lock-lodge  of  the  tall  Pawnee, 
And  up  the  La  Platte.     What  a  weary  dearth 
Of  the  homes  of  men  !     What  a  wild  delight 
Of  space !  of  room  !     What  a  sense  of  seas, 
Where  the  seas  are  not !    What  a  salt-like  breeze  ! 
What  dust  and  taste  of  quick  alkali ! 


HO  FROM   SEA    TO    SEA. 

.  .  .  Then  hills !  green,  brown,  then  black  like  night, 
All  fierce  and  defiant  against  the  sky  ! 

By  night  and  by  day !     The  deeps  of  the  night 
Are  rolling  upon  us,  yet  fiercer  the  flight. 
Lo  !  darkness  bends  down  like  a  mother  of  grief 
On  the  limitless  plain,  and  the  fall  of  her  hair 
It  has  mantled  a  world.     The  stars  are  in  sheaf, 
Yet  onward  we  plunge  like  a  beast  in  despair 
Through  the  thick  of  the  night ;  and  the  thundering 

cars ! 

They  have  crush' d  and  have  broken  the  beautiful  day ; 
Have  crumbled  it,  scatter'd  it  far  away, 
And  blown  it  above  to  a  dust  of  stars. 


v. 


At  last !  at  last !     O  steed  new-born, 
Born  strong  of  the  will  of  the  strong  New  World, 
We  shoot  to  the  summit,  with  the  shafts  of  morn, 
Of  the  mount  of  Thunder,  where  clouds  are  curl'd, 
Below  in  a  splendor  of  the  sun-clad  seas. 
A  kiss  of  welcome  on  the  warm  west  breeze 


FROM   SEA    TO    SEA.  Ill 

Blows  up  with  a  smell  of  the  fragrant  pine, 

And  a  faint,  sweet  fragrance  from  the  far-off  seas 

Comes  in  through  the  gates  of  the  great  South  Pass 

And  thrills  the  soul  like  a  flow  of  wine. 

The  hare  leaps  low  in  the  storm-bent  grass, 

The  mountain  ram  from  his  cliff  looks  back, 

The  brown  deer  hies  to  the  tamarack ; 

And  afar  to  the  South  with  a  sound  of  the  main, 

Roll  buffalo  herds  to  the  limitless  plain.  .  .  . 

On,  on,  o'er  the  summit ;  and  onward  again, 
And  down  like  the  sea-dove  the  billow  enshrouds, 
And  down  like  the  swallow  that  dips  to  the  sea, 
We  dart  and  we  dash  and  we  quiver  and  we 
Are  blowing  to  heaven  white  billows  of  clouds. 

VI. 

Thou  «  City  of  Saints  !  "     O  antique  men, 
And  men  of  the  Desert  as  the  men  of  old ! 
Stand  up !  be  glad  !     When  the  truths  are  told, 
When  Time  has  utter'd  his  truths  and  when 
His  hand  has  lifted  the  things  to  fame 
From  the  mass  of  things  to  be  known  no  more ; 
When  creeds  have  perish'd  and  have  pass'd  away, 


112  FROM  SEA    TO    SEA. 

Opinions  that  lorded  their  little  day,  — 

A  monument  set  in  the  desert  sand, 

A  pyramid  rear'd  on  an  inland  shore, 

And  their  architects,  shall  have  place  and  name. 

O  sea,  land-lost !     O  desolate  land, 
Made  brown  with  grain,  and  made  green  with  bay ; 
Let  mock  who  will,  gainsay  it  who  may, 
No  little  thing  has  it  been  to  rear 
A  resting-place  in  the  desert  here, 
For  Fathers  bound  to  a  farther  land  ; 
No  little  thing  with  a  foe  at  hand 
That  has  known  no  peace,  save  with  these  strong  men, 
And  the  peace  unbroken  with  the  blameless  Penn. 

VII. 

The  Humboldt  desert  and  the  alkaline  land, 
And  the  seas  of  sage  and  of  arid  sand, 
That  stretch  away  till  the  strain' d  eye  carries 
The  soul  where  the  infinite  spaces  fill, 
Are  far  in  the  rear,  and  the  fair  Sierras 
Are  under  our  feet,  and  the  heart  beats  high, 
And  the  blood  comes  quick ;  but  the  lips  are  still 
With  awe  and  wonder,  and  all  the  will 
Is  bow'd  with  a  grandeur  that  frets  the  sky. 


FROM   SEA    TO    SEA.  113 

A  flash  of  lakes  through  the  fragrant  trees, 
A  song  of  birds  and  a  sound  of  bees 
Above  in  the  boughs  of  the  sugar-pine. 
The  pick-axe  stroke  in  the  placer  mine, 
The  boom  of  blasts  in  the  gold-ribb'd  hills, 
The  grizzly's  growl  in  the  gorge  below 
Are  dying  away,  and  the  sound  of  rills 
From  the  far-off  shimmering  crest  of  snow, 
The  laurel  green  and  the  ivied  oak, 
A  yellow  stream  and  a  cabin's  smoke, 
The  brown  bent  hills  and  the  shepherd's  call, 
The  hills  of  vine  and  of  fruits,  and  all 
The  sweets  of  Eden  are  here,  and  we 
Look  out  and  afar  to  a  limitless  sea. 

We  have  lived  in  age  in  a  half-moon-wane  ! 
We  have  seen  a  world !     We  have  chased  the  sun 
From  sea  to  sea ;  but  the  task  is  done. 
We  here  descend  to  the  great  white  main,  — 
To  the  King  of  Seas,  with  the  temples  bare 
And  a  tropic  breath  on  the  brow  and  hair. 

We  are  hush'd  with  wonder,  and  all  apart 
We  stand  in  silence  till  the  heaving  heart 


114  FROM  SEA    TO    SEA. 

Fills  full  of  heaven,  and  then  the  knees 
Go  down  in  worship,  on  the  golden  sands. 
With  faces  seaward,  and  with  folded  hands 
We  gaze  on  the  beautiful  Balboa  seas. 


BY    THE     SUN-DOWN    SEAS. 


BY    THE    SUN-DOWN    SEAS. 


PAKT     I. 

i. 

T    IKE  fragments  of  an  uncompleted  world, 

From  bleak  Alaska,  bound  in  ice  and  spray, 
To  where  the  peaks  of  Darien  lie  curl'd 
In  clouds,  the  broken  lands  loom  bold  and  gray. 
The  seamen  nearing  San  Francisco  Bay 
Forget  the  compass  here ;  with  sturdy  hand 
They  seize  the  wheel,  look  up,  then  bravely  lay 
The  ship  to  shore  by  rugged  peaks  that  stand 
The  stern  and  proud  patrician  fathers  of  the  land. 

n. 

They  stand  white  stairs  of  heaven,  —  stand  a  line 
Of  lifting,  endless,  and  eternal  white. 
They  look  upon  the  far  and  flashing  brine, 
Upon  the  boundless  plains,  the  broken  height 
Of  Kamiakin's  battlements.     The  flight 
Of  time  is  underneath  their  untopp'd  towers. 
They  seem  to  push  aside  the  moon  at  night, 
To  jostle  and  to  loose  the  stars.     The  flowers 
Of  heaven  fall  about  their  brows  in  shining  showers. 


Il8  BY   THE   SUN-DOWN  SEAS. 

* 
m. 

They  stand  a  line  of  lifted  snowy  isles 
High  held  above  a  toss'd  and  tumbled  sea,  — 
A  sea  of  wood  in  wild  unmeasured  miles : 
White  pyramids  of  Faith  where  man  is  free ; 
White  monuments  of  Hope  that  yet  shall  be 
The  mounts  of  matchless  and  immortal  song.  .  .  . 
I  look  far  down  the  hollow  days ;  I  see 
The  bearded  prophets,  simple-soul'd  and  strong, 
That  strike  the  sounding  harp  and  thrill  the  heeding 
throng. 

IV. 

Serene  and  satisfied !  supreme !  as  lone 
As  God,  they  loom  like  God's  archangels  churl'd : 
They  look  as  cold  as  kings  upon  a  throne : 
The  mantling  wings  of  night  are  crush'd  and  curl'd 
As  feathers  curl.     The  elements  are  hurl'd 
From  off  their  bosoms,  and  are  bidden  go, 
Like  evil  spirits,  to  an  under-world. 
They  stretch  from  Cariboo  to  Mexico, 
A  line  of  battle-tents  in  everlasting  snow. 


BY   THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS.  1 19 

v. 

See  once  Columbia's  scenes,  then  roam  no  more ; 
No  more  remains  on  earth  to  cultured  eyes ; 
The  cataract  comes  down,  a  broken  roar, 
The  palisades  defy  approach,  and  rise 
Green  moss'd  and  dripping  to  the  clouded  skies. 
The  canon  thunders  with  its  full  of  foam, 
And  calls  loud-mouth'd,  and  all  the  land  defies ; 
The  mounts  make  fellowship  and  dwell  at  home 
In  snowy  brotherhood  beneath  their  purpled  dome. 

VI. 

The  rainbows  swim  in  circles  round,  and  rise 
Against  the  hanging  granite  walls  till  lost 
In  drifting  dreamy  clouds  and  dappled  skies, 
A  grand  mosaic  intertwined  and  toss'd 
Along  the  mighty  canon,  bound  and  cross'd 
By  storms  of  screaming  birds  of  sea  and  land ; 
The  salmon  rush  below,  bright  red  and  boss'd 
In  silver.     Tawny,  tall,  on  either  hand 
You  see  the  savage  spearman  nude  and  silent  stand. 

VII. 

Here  sweep  the  wide  wild  waters  cold  and  white 
And  blue  in  their  far  depths ;  divided  now 


120  BY   THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS. 

By  sudden  swift  canoe  as  still  and  light 
As  feathers  nodding  from  the  painted  brow 
That  lifts  and  looks  from  out  the  imaged  prow. 
Ashore  you  hear  the  papoose  shout  at  play; 
The  curl'd  smoke  comes  from  underneath  the  bough 
Of  leaning  fir :  the  wife  looks  far  away 
And  sees  a  swift  sweet  bark  divide  the  dashing  spray. 

vin. 

Slow  drift  adown  the  river's  levell'd  deep, 
And  look  above ;  lo,  columns  !  woods  !  the  snow ! 
The  rivers  rush  upon  the  brink  and  leap 
From  out  the  clouds  three  thousand  feet  below, 
And  land  afoam  in  tops  of  firs  that  grow 
Against  your  river's  rim :  they  plash,  they  play, 
In  clouds,  now  loud  and  now  subdued  and  slow, 
A  thousand  thunder  tones ;  they  swing  and  sway 
In  idle  winds,  long  leaning  shafts  of  shining  spray. 

IX. 

An  Indian  summer-time  it  was,  long  past, 
We  lay  on  this  Columbia,  far  below 
The  stormy  water-Mis,  and  God  had  cast 
Us  heaven's  stillness.    Dreamily  and  slow 
We  drifted  as  the  light  bark  chose  to  go. 


BY    THE,   SUN-DOWN  SEAS.  121 

An  Indian  girl  with  ornaments  of  shell 
Began  to  sing,  .  .  .  The  stars  may  hold  such  flow 
Of  hair,  such  eyes,  but  rarely  earth.     There  fell 
A  sweet  enchantment  that  possess'd  me  as  a  spell : 

x. 

We  saw  the  elk  forsake  the  sable  wood, 
Step  quick  across  the  rim  of  shining  sand, 
Breast  out  in  troop  against  the  flashing  flood, 
Then  brisket  deep  with  lifted  antlers  stand, 
And  ears  alert,  look  sharp  on  either  hand, 
Then  whistle  shrill  to  dam  and  doubting  fawn 
To  follow,  lead  with  black  nose  to  the  land. 
They  cross'd,  they  climb'd  the  heaving  hills,  were  gone, 
A- sturdy  charging  line  with  crooked  sabres  drawn: 

XI. 

Then  black  swans  cross'd  us  slowly  low  and  still ; 
Then  other  swans,  wide-wing'd  and  white  as  snow, 
Flew  overhead  and  topp'd  the  timber'd  hill, 
And  call'd  and  sang  afar  coarse-voiced  and  slow, 
Till  sounds  roam'd  lost  in  sombre  firs  below.  .  .  . 
Then  clouds  blew  in,  and  all  the  sky  was  cast 
With  tumbled  and  tumultuous  clouds  that  grow 
6 


122  BY    THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS. 

Red  thunderbolts.  ...  A  flash !     A  thunder-blast ! 
The  clouds  were  rent,  and  lo !  Mount  Hood  hung  white 
and  vast. 


XII. 

Once,  morn  by  morn,  when  snowy  mountains  flamed 
With  sudden  shafts  of  light  that  shot  a  flood 
Into  the  vale  like  fiery  arrows  aim'd 
At  night  from  mighty  battlements,  there  stood 
Upon  a  cliff  high-limn'd  against  Mount  Hood, 
A  matchless  bull  fresh  forth  from  sable  wold, 
And  standing  so  seem'd  grander  'gainst  the  wood 
Than  winged  bull  that  stood  with  tips  of  gold 
Beside  the  brazen  gates  of  Nineveh  of  old. 


XIII. 

A  time  he  toss'd  the  dewy  turf,  and  then 
Stretch'd  forth  his  wrinkled  neck,  and  long  and  loud 
He  call'd  above  the  far  abodes  of  men 
Until  his  breath  became  a  curling  cloud 

O 

And  wreathed  about  his  neck  a  misty  shroud. 


BY   THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS.  123 

He  then  as  sudden  as  he  came  pass'd  on 
With  lifted  head,  majestic  and  most  proud, 
And  lone  as  night  in  deepest  wood  withdrawn 
He  roam'd  in  silent  rage  until  another  dawn. 

XIV. 

What  drove  the  hermit  from  the  valley  herd, 
What  cross  of  love,  what  cold  neglect  of  kind, 
Or  scorn  of  unpretending  Avorth  had  stirr'd 
The  stubborn  blood  and  drove  him  forth  to  find 
A  fellowship  in  mountain  cloud  and  wind, 
I  ofttime  wonder'd  much ;  and  ofttime  thought 
The  beast  betray'd  a  royal  monarch's  mind, 
To  lift  above  the  low  herd's  common  lot, 
And  make  them  hear  him  still  when  they  had  fain 
forgot. 

xv. 

His  broad-brimm'd  hat  push'd  back  with  careless  air, 

The  proud  vaquero  sits  his  steed  as  free 

As  winds  that  toss  his  black  abundant  hair. 

No  rover  ever  swept  a  lawless  sea 

With  such  a  haught  and  heedless  air  as  he 


124  BY    THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS. 

Who  scorns  the  path,  and  bounds  with  swift  disdain 
Away :  a  peon  born,  yet  born  to  be 
A  splendid  king  \  behold  him  ride,  and  reign, 
The  only  perfect  monarch  of  the  mottled  plain. 

XVI. 

How  brave  he  takes  his  herds  in  branding  days, 
On  timbered  hills  that  belt  about  the  plain ; 
He  climbs,  he  wheels,  he  shouts  through  winding  ways 
Of  hiding  ferns  and  hanging  fir ;  the  rein 
Is  loose,  the  rattling  spur  drives  swift ;  the  mane 
Blows  free ;  the  bullocks  rush  in  storms  before ; 
They  turn  with  lifted  heads,  they  rush  again, 
Then  sudden  plunge  from  out  the  wood,  and  pour 
A  cloud  upon  the  plain  with  one  terrific  roar. 


XVII. 


Now  sweeps  the  tawny  man  on  stormy  steed, 
His  gaudy  trappings  toss'd  about  and  blown 
Above  the  limbs  as  lithe  as  any  reed ; 
The  swift  long  lasso  twirl'd  above  is  thrown 
From  flying  hand ;  the  fall,  the  fearful  groan 
Of  bullock  toil'd  and  tumbled  in  the  dust  — 
The  black  herds  onward  sweep,  and  all  disown 


BY   THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS.  125 

The  fallen  struggling  monarch  that  has  thrust 
His  tongue  in  rage  and  roll'd  his  red  eyes  in  disgust. 


XVIII. 

A  morn  in  Oregon  !     The  kindled  camp 
Upon  the  mountain  brow  that  broke  below 
In  steep  and  grassy  stairway  to  the  damp 
And  dewy  valley,  snapp'd  and  flamed  aglow 
With  knots  of  pine.     Above,  the  peaks  of  snow, 
With  under-belts  of  sable  forests,  rose 
And  flash'd  in  sudden  sunlight.     To  and  fro 
And  far  below,  in  lines  and  winding  rows, 
The  herders  drove  their  bands,  and  broke  the  deep 
repose. 

XIX. 

I  heard  their  shouts  like  sounding  hunter's  horn, 
The  lowing  herds  made  echoes  far  away ; 
When  lo !  the  clouds  came  driving  in  with  morn 
Toward  the  sea,  as  fleeing  from  the  day. 
The  valleys  fill'd  with  curly  clouds.     They  lay 
Below,  a  levell'd  sea  that  reach'd  and  roll'd 
And  broke  like  breakers  of  a  stormy  bay 
Against  the  grassy  shingle  fold  on  fold, 
So  like  a  splendid  ocean,  snowy  white  and  cold. 


126  BY   THE   SUN-DOWN  SEAS. 


xx. 


The  peopled  valley  lay  a  hidden  world, 
The  shouts  were  shouts  of  drowning  men  that  died, 
The  broken  clouds  along  the  border  cuii'd, 
And  bent  the  grass  with  weighty  freight  of  tide. 
A  savage  stood  in  silence  at  my  side, 
Then  sudden  threw  aback  his  beaded  strouds 
And  stretch'd  his  hand  above  the  scene,  and  cried, 
As  nil  the  land  lay  dead  in  snowy  shrouds  : 
"  Behold !  the  sun  upon  a  silver  sea  of  clouds." 


XXI. 


Here  lifts  the  land  of  clouds !     The  mantled  forms, 
Made  white  with  everlasting  snow,  look  down 
Through  mists  of  many  canons,  and  the  storms 
That  stretch  from  Autumn  time  until  they  drown 
The  yellow  hem  of  Spring.     The  cedars  frown, 
Dark-brow'd,  through  banner'd  clouds  that  stretch 

and  stream 

Above  the  sea  from  snowy  mountain  crown. 
The  heavens  roll,  and  all  things  drift  or 'seem 
To  drift  about  and  drive  like  some  majestic  dream. 


BY   THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS. 


xxn. 


In  waning  Autumn  time,  when  purpled  skies 
Begin  to  haze  in  indolence  below 
The  snowy  peaks,  you  see  black  forms  arise 
In  rolling  thunder  banks  above,  and  throw 
Quick  barricades  about  the  gleaming  snow. 
The  strife  begins !     The  battling  seasons  stand 
Broad  breast  to  breast.     A  flash !    Contentions  grow 
Terrific.     Thunders  crash,  and  lightnings  brand 
The  battlements.     The  clouds  possess  the  stormy  land. 


XXIII. 


Then  clouds  blow  by,  the  swans  take  loftier  flight, 
The  yellow  blooms  burst  out  upon  the  hill, 
The  purple  camas  comes  as  in  a  night, 
Tall  spiked  and  dripping  of  the  dews  that  fill 
The  misty  valley.  .  .  .  Sunbeams  break  and  spill 
Their  glory  till  the  vale  is  full  of  noon. 
The  roses  belt  the  streams,  no  bird  is  still.  .  .  . 
The  stars,  as  large  as  lilies,  meet  the  moon 
And  sing  of  summer,  born  thus  sudden  full  and  soon. 


BY    THE    SUN-DOWN    SEAS. 


A 


PART      II. 


TALE  half  told  and  hardly  understood; 

The  talk  of  bearded  men  that  chanced  to  meet, 
That  lean'd  on  long  quaint  rifles  in  the  wood, 
That  look'd  in  fellow  faces,  spoke  discreet 
And  low,  as  half  in  doubt  and  in  defeat 
Of  hope  ;  a  tale  it  was  of  lands  of  gold 
That  lay  toward  the  sun.     Wild  wing'd  and  fleet 
It  spread  among  the  swift  Missouri's  bold 
Unbridled  men,  and  reach'd  to  where  Ohio  roll'd. 


n. 


The  long  chain'd  lines  of  yoked  and  patient  steers ; 
The  long  white  trains  that  pointed  to  the  west, 
Beyond  the  savage  west ;  the  hopes  and  fears 
Of  blunt  untutor'd  men,  who  hardly  guess'd 


BY    THE    SUN-DOWN   SEAS.  I2Q 

Their  course ;  the  brave  and  silent  women,  dress'd 
In  homely  spun  attire,  the  boys  in  bands, 
The  cheery  babes  that  laugh'd  at  all,  and  bless'd 
The  doubting  hearts  with  laughing  lifted  hands, 
Proclaim'd  an  exodus  for  far  untraversed  lands. 

in. 

The  Plains !     The  shouting  drivers  at  the  wheel ; 
The  crash  of  leather  whips ;  the  crush  and  roll 
Of  wheels ;  the  groan  of  yokes  and  grinding  steel 
And  iron  chain,  and  lo !  at  last  the  whole 
Vast  line,  that  reach'd  as  if  to  touch  the  goal, 
Began  to  stretch  and  stream  away  and  wind 
Toward  the  west,  as  if  with  one  control ; 
Then  hope  loom'd  fair,  and  home  lay  far  behind  j 
Before,  the  boundless  plain,  and  fiercest  of  their  kind. 

IV. 

The  way  lay  wide  and  green  and  fresh  as  seas 

And  far  away  as  any  reach  of  wave ; 

The  sunny  streams  went  by  in  belt  of  trees ; 

And  here  and  there  the  tassell'd,  tawny  brave 

Swept  by  on  horse,  look'd  back,  stretch'd  forth  and 

gave 
6*  i 


130  BY    THE    SUN-DOWN   SEAS. 

A  yell  of  hell,  and  then  did  wheel  and  rein 
Awhile,  and  point  away,  dark-brow'd  and  grave, 
Into  the  far  and  dim  and  distant  plain 
With  signs  and  prophecies,  and  then  plunged  on  again. 

v. 

Some  hills  at  last  began  to  lift  and  break ; 
Some  streams  began  to  fail  of  wood  and  tide, 
The  sombre  plain  began  betime  to  take 
A  hue  of  weary  brown,  and  wild  and  wide 
It  stretch'd  its  naked  breast  on  every  side.  .  .  . 
A  babe  was  heard  at  last  to  cry  for  bread 
Amid  the  deserts ;  cattle  low'd  and  died, 
And  dying  men  went  by  with  broken  tread, 
And  left  a  long  black  serpent  line  of  wreck  and  dead. 

VI. 

Strange   hunger'd   birds,  black-wing'd   and   still   as 

death, 

And  crown'd  of  red  with  hooked  beaks,  blew  low 
And  close  about,  till  we  could  touch  their  breath  — 
Strange  unnamed  birds,  that  seem'd  to  come  and  go 
In  circles  now,  and  now  direct  and  slow, 


BY    THE    SUN-DOWN   SEAS.  131 

Continual,  yet  never  touch  the  earth ; 
Slim  foxes  shied  and  shuttled  to  and  fro 
At  times  across  the  dusty  weary  dearth 
Of  life,  look'd  back,  then  sank  like  crickets  in  a  hearth. 

VII. 

The  dust  arose,  a  long  dim  line  like  smoke 
From  out  a  riven  earth.     The  wheels  went  by, 
The  thousand  feet  in  harness  and  in  yoke, 
They  tore  the  ways  of  ashen  alkali, 
And  desert  winds  blew  sudden,  swift  and  dry. 
The  dust !  it  sat  upon  and  fill'd  the  train ! 
It  seem'd  to  fret  and  fill  the  very  sky. 
Lo !  dust  upon  the  beasts,  the  tent,  the  plain, 
And  dust,  alas !  on  breasts  that  rose  not  up  again. 

VIII. 

They  sat  in  desolation  and  in  dust 
By  dried-up  desert  streams ;  the  mother's  hands 
Hid  all  her  bended  face ;  the  cattle  thrust 
Their  tongues  and  faintly  call'd  across  the  lands. 
The  babes,  that  knew  not  what  the  way  through  sands 
Could  mean,  would  ask  if  it  would  end  to-day.  .  .  . 
The  panting  wolves  slid  by,  red-eyed,  in  bands 
To  streams  beyond.     The  men  look'd  far  away, 
And  silent  saw  that  all  a  boundless  desert  lay. 


132  BY    THE    SUN-DOWN   SEAS. 


IX. 

They  rose  by  night ;  they  struggled  on  and  on 
As  thin  and  still  as  ghosts ;  then  here  and  there 
Beside  the  dusty  way  before  the  dawn, 
Men  silent  laid  them  down  in  their  despair, 
And  died.     But  woman  !     Woman,  frail  as  fair ! 
May  man  have  strength  to  give  to  you  your  due ; 
You  falter'd  not,  nor  murmur'd  anywhere, 
You  held  your  babes,  held  to  your  course,  and  you 
Bore  on  through  burning  hell  your  double  burthens 
through. 

x. 

They  stood  at  last,  the  decimated  few, 
Above  a  land  of  running  streams,  and  they  .  .  .  ? 
They  push'd  aside  the  boughs,  and  peering  through 
Beheld  afar  the  cool,  refreshing  bay ; 
Then  some  did  curse,  and  some  bend  hands  to  pray ; 
But  some  look'd  back  upon  the  desert,  wide 
And  desolate  with  death,  then  all  the  day 
They  wept.    But  one,  with  nothing  left  beside 
His  dog  to  love,  crept  down  among  the  ferns  and  died. 


BY    THE    SUN-DOWN   SEAS.  133 

XI. 

I  stand  upon  the  green  Sierra's  wall ; 
Toward  the  east,  beyond  the  yellow  grass, 
I  see  the  broken  hill-tops  lift  and  fall, 
Then  sands  that  shimmer  like  a  sea  of  glass, 
In  all  the  shining  summer  days  that  pass. 
There  lies  the  nation's  great  high  road  of  dead. 
Forgotten  aye,  unnumber'd,  and,  alas! 
Unchronicled  in  deed  or  death ;  instead, 
The  stiff  aristocrat  lifts  high  a  lordly  head. 

XII. 

My  brave  and  unremember'd  heroes,  rest ; 
You  fell  in  silence,  silent  lie  and  sleep. 
Sleep  on  unsung,  for  this,  I  say,  were  best ; 
The  world  to-day  has  hardly  time  to  weep ; 
The  world  to-day  will  hardly  care  to  keep 
In  heart  her  plain  and  unpretending  brave. 
The  desert  winds,  they  whistle  by  and  sweep 
About  you ;  brown'd  and  russet  grasses  wave 
Along  a  thousand  leagues  that  lie  one  common  grave. 

XIII. 

The  proud  and  careless  pass  in  palace  car 
Along  the  line  you  blazon'd  white  with  bones ; 


134  BY    THE    SUN-DOWN   SEAS. 

Pass  swift  to  people,  and  possess  and  mar 
Your  lands  with  monuments  and  letter'd  stones 
Unto  themselves.     Thank  God !  this  waste  disowns 
Their  touch.     His  everlasting  hand  has  drawn 
A  shining  line  around  you.     Wealth  bemoans 
The  waste  your  splendid  grave  employs.     Sleep  on, 
No  hand  shall  touch  your  dust  this  side  of  God  and 
dawn. 

XIV. 

There  came  another,  far  less  noble  race ; 
They  shot  across  the  iron  grooves,  a  host 
Of  school'd  and  cunning  men ;  they  push'd  from  place 
The  simple  pioneer,  and  mock'd,  and  most 
Of  all  set  strife  along  the  peaceful  coast. 
The  rude  unletter'd  settler,  bound  and  coil'd 
In  controversy,  then  before  the  boast 
Of  bold  contentious  men,  confused  and  foiled, 
Turn'd  mute  to  wilder  lands,  and  left  his  home  despoil'd. 

xv. 

I  let  them  stride  across  with  grasping  hands 
And  strive  for  brief  possession ;  mark  and  line 
With  lifted  walls  the  new  divided  lands, 
And  gather  growing  herds  of  lowing  kine. 


BY    THE    SUN-DOWN   SEAS.  135 

I  could  not  covet  these,  could  not  confine 
My  heart  to  one ;  all  seem'd  to  me  the  same, 
And  all  below  my  mountain  home,  divine 
And  beautiful  held  in  another's  name, 
As  if  the  herds  and  lands  were  mine,  subdued  and  tame. 


XVI. 

I  have  not  been,  shall  not  be,  understood ; 
I  have  not  wit,  nor  will,  to  well  explain, 
But  that  which  men  call  good  I  find  not  good. 
The  lands  the  savage  held,  shall  hold  again, 
The  gold  the  savage  spurn'd  in  proud  disdain 
For  centuries ;   go,  take  them  all ;  build  high 
Your  gilded  temples;  strive  and  strike  and  strain 
And  crowd  and  controvert  and  curse  and  lie 
In  church  and  state,  in  town  and  citadel,  and  —  die. 

XVII. 

And  who  shall  grow  the  nobler  from  it  all? 
The  mute  and  unsung  savage  loved  as  true,  — 
He  felt,  as  grateful  felt,  God's  blessings  fall 
About  his  lodge  and  tawny  babes  as  you 
In  temples,  —  Moslem,  Christian  monk,  or  Jew. 


BY    THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS. 


.  .  .  The  sea,  the  great  white,  braided,  bounding  sea, 
Is  laughing  in  your  face  ;  the  arching  blue 
Remains  to  God  ;  the  mountains  still  are  free, 
A  refuge  for  the  few  remaining  tribes  and  me. 


XVIII. 

Your  cities !  from  the  first  the  hand  of  God 
Has  been  against  them ;  sword  and  flood  and  flame, 
The  earthquake's  march,  and  pestilence,  have  trod 
To  undiscerning  dust  the  very  name 
Of  antique  capitals;  and  still  the  same 
Sad  destiny  besets  the  battlefields 
Of  Mammon  and  the  harlot's  house  of  shame. 
Lo !  man  with  monuments  and  lifted  shields 
Against  his  city's  fate.     A  flame !  his  city  yields. 


XIX. 

Whose  ill  had  I  devised,  what  evil  done, 
That  I  was  bidden  to  arise  and  go  ?  ... 
I  hear  the  clear  Columbian  waters  run, 
I  see  the  white  Pacific  flash  and  flow 
Below  the  swaying  cedar-trees  that  grow 


BY   THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS.  137 

On  peaks  pre-eminent ;  but  never  mine 
Again  the  wooded  way  on  steed  of  snow, 
The  freeman's  mountain  camp  in  cloud  or  shine, 
Or  pure  companionship  of  meek-eyed  mottled  kine. 

xx. 

What  wonder  that  I  swore  a  prophet's  oath 
Of  after  days.  ...  I  push'd  the  boughs  apart, 
I  stood,  look'd  forth,  and  then  look'd  back,  all  loath 
To  leave  my  shadow'd  wood.     I  gather'd  heart 
From  very  fearfulness ;  with  sudden  start 
I  plunged  in  the  arena ;  stood  a  wild 
Uncertain  thing,  and  artless  all 'in  art,  ... 
The  brave  approved,  the  fair  lean'd  fair  and  smiled, — 
The  lions  touch  with  velvet-touch  a  timid  child. 

XXI. 

But  now  enough  of  men.    Enough,  brief  day 
Of  tamer  life.     The  court,  the  castle  gate 
That  open'd  wide  along  a  pleasant  way, 
The  gracious  converse  of  the  kingly  great 
Had  made  another  glad  and  well  elate 
With  hope.     A  world  of  thanks ;  but  I  am  grown 
Aweary.  ...  I  am  not  of  this  estate ; 
The  poor,  the  plain  brave  border-men  alone 
Were  my  first  love,  and  these  I  will  not  now  disown. 


I3§  BY   THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS. 

XXII. 

Who  loves  the  least  may  oft  lament  most  loud : 
I  stand  mute-mouth' d  upon  a  far  gray  shore ; 
The  soul  lifts  up,  a  lone  and  white-wing'd  cloud, 
And  like  some  sea-bird  back  and  then  before 
The  storm  of  seas,  it  seeks  my  land  once  more ; 
And  here,  about  the  peaceful  peaks,  as  white 
As  steps  of  God,  until  the  fates  restore 
My  feet,  shall  it  abide :  the  sea  at  night 
Has  flash'd  reflections  back  from  foamy  fields  of  light. 

xxm. 

I  know  a  grassy  slope  above  the  sea, 
The  utmost  limit  of  the  westmost  land. 
In  savage,  gnarl'd,  and  antique  majesty 
The  great  trees  belt  about  the  place,  and  stand 
In  guard,  with  mailed  limb  and  lifted  head 
Against  the  cold  approaching  civic  pride. 
The  foamy  brooklets  seaward  leap ;  the  bland 
Still  air  is  fresh  with  touch  of  wood  and  tide, 
And  peace,  eternal  peace,  possesses  wild  and  wide. 

XXIV. 

Here  I  return,  here  I  abide  and  rest ; 

Some  flocks  and  herds  shall  feed  along  the  stream ; 


13 Y   THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS.  139 

Some  corn  and  climbing  vines  shall  make  us  blest 
With  bread  and  luscious  fruit.  .  .  .   The  sunny  dream 
Of  savage  men  in  moccasins  that  seem 
To  come  and  go  in  silence,  girt  in  shell, 
Before  a  sun-clad  cabin-door,  I  deem 
The  harbinger  of  peace.     Hope  weaves  her  spell 
Again  about  the  wearied  heart,  and  all  is  well. 

xxv. 

Here  I  shall  sit  in  sunlit  life's  decline 
Beneath  my  vine  and  sombre  verdant  tree. 
Some  tawny  maids  in  other  tongues  than  mine 
Shall  minister.     Some  memories  shall  be 
Before  me.     I  shall  sit  and  I  shall  see, 
That  last  vast  day  that  dawn  shall  re-inspire,     « 
The  sun  fall  down  upon  the  farther  sea, 
Fall  wearied  down  to  rest,  and  so  retire, 
A  splendid  sinking  isle  of  far-off  fading  fire. 


BY    THE    SUN-DOWN    SEAS. 


PAKT    III. 


stormy  Isles  of  story  and  of  song, 
Lo !  yonder  lie,  white  lifting  from  the  sea. 
The  head  is  bow'd  a  time,  then  loud  and  long 
The  shouts  go  up ;  men  lean  tiptoed,  to  be  * 
One  instant  nearer ;  turn,  catch  high  and  free 
Their  little  babes  above  the  leaning  band, 
And  lift  and  point  and  bid  them  look  and  see 
And  laugh  with  them  and  shout  with  lifted  hand 
To  see  at  last  the  land ;  their  sires'  sires'  darling  land, 


ii. 


Thou,  mother  of  brave  men,  of  nations !     Thou, 

The  white-brow'd  Queen  of  bold  white-bearded  Sea ! 

Thou  wert  of  old  even  the  same  as  now, 

So  strong,  so  tame  yet  fierce,  so  bound  yet  free, 

A  contradiction  and  a  mystery; 

Serene,  yet  passionate,  in  ways  thine  own. 


BY    THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS.  141 

Thy  white  ships  wind  and  weave  all  time  for  thee 
The  zones  of  earth,  aye  thou  hast  set  and  sown 

The  seas  in  bed  of  blossom'd  sail,  white-spread  and 
blown. 

in. 

Above  yon  inland  populace  the  skies 
Are  pink  and  mellow'd  soft  in  rosy  light. 
The  crown  of  earth !     A  halo  seems  to  rise 
And  hang  perpetual  above  by  night, 
And  dash  by  day  the  heavens,  till  the  sight 
Betrays*  the  city's  presence  to  the  wave.  .  .  . 
You  hear  a  hollow  sound  as  of  the  might 
Of  seas ;  you  see  the  march  of  fair  and  brave 

In  millions ;  moving,  moving,  moving  to  ward  -*—  a  grave. 

IV. 

I  see  above  a  crowded  world  a  cross 
Of  gold.     It  grows  like  some  great  cedar-tree 
Upon  a  peak  in  shroud  of  cloud  and  moss, 
Made  bare  and  bronzed  in  far  antiquity. 
Stupendous  pile !     The  grim  Yosemite 
Has  rent  apart  his  granite  wall,  and  thrown 
•  Its  rugged  front  before  us.  .  .  .    Here  I  see 
The  strides  of  giant  men  in  cryptic  stone, 
And  turn,  and  slow  descend  where  sleep  the  great  alone. 


142  BY    THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS. 

V. 

The  mighty  captains  have  come  home  to  rest ; 

The  brave  return'd  to  sleep  amid  the  brave. 

The  sentinel  that  stood  with  steely  breast 

Before  the  fiery  hosts  of  France,  and  gave 

The  battle-cry  that  roll'd,  receding  wave 

On  wave,  the  foeman  flying  back  and  far, 

Is  here.     How  still !     Yet  louder  now  the  crave 

O 

Than  ever-crushing  Belgian  battle-car 
Or  blue  and  battle-shaken  seas  of  Trafalgar. 


VI. 

The  verger  stalks  in  stiff  importance  o'er 
The  hollow,  deep,  and  strange  responding  stones ; 
He  stands  with  lifted  staff  unchid  before 
The  forms  that  once  had  crush' d  or  fashion'd  thrones, 
And  coldly  points  you  out  the  coffin' d  bones : 
He  stands  composed  where  armies  could  not  stand 
A  little  time  before.  .  .  .  The  hand  disowns 
The  idle  sword,  and  now  instead  the  grand 
And  golden  cross  makes  sign  and  takes  austere  com 
mand. 


BY   THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS.  143 

VII. 

The  Abbey  broods  beside  the  turbid  Thames  ; 
Her  mother  heart  is  fill'd  with  memories  ; 
Her  every  niche  is  stored  with  storied  names; 
They  move  before  me  like  a  mist  of  seas. 
I  am  confused,  am  made  abash'd  by  these 
Most  kingly  souls,  grand,  silent,  and  severe. 
I  am  not  equal,  I  should  sore  displease 
The  living  .  .•  .  dead.     I  dare  not  enter  ;  drear 
And  stain'd  in  storms  of  grander  days  all  things  appear. 

VIII. 

I  go  !  but  shall  I  not  return  again 
When  Art  has  taught  me  gentler,  kindlier  skill, 
And  time  has  given  force  and  strength  of  strain  ? 
I  go  !     O  ye  that  dignify  and  fill 
The  chronicles  of  earth  !     I  would  instil 
Into  my  soul  somehow  the  atmosphere 
Of  sanctity  that  here  usurps  the  will  ; 
But  go  ;  I  seek  the  tomb  of  one  —  a  peer 
Of  peers  —  whose  dust  a  fool  refused  to  cherish  here. 


O  master,  here  I  bow  before  a  shrine  ; 
Before  the  lordliest  dust  that  ever  yet 


144  BY   THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS. 

Moved  animate  in  human  form  divine. 
Lo !  dust  indeed  to  dust.     The  mould  is  set 
Above  thee  and  the  ancient  walls  are  wet, 
And  drip  all  day  in  dank  and  silent  gloom, 
As  if  the  cold  gray  stones  could  not  forget 
Thy  great  estate  shrunk  to  this  sombre  room, 
But  learn  to  weep  perpetual  tears  above  thy  tomb. 


x. 


Through  broken  panes  I  hear  the  schoolboys  shout, 
I  see  the  black-wing'd  engines  sweep  and  pass, 
And  from  the  peopled  narrow  plot  without, 
Well  grown  with  brier,  moss,  and  heaving  grass, 
I  see  the  Abbey  loom  an  ivied  mass, 
Made  eloquent  of  faiths,  of  fates  to  be, 
Of  creeds,  and  perish'd  kings;  and  still,  alas, 
O  soldier-childe !  most  eloquent  of  thee, 
Of  thy  sad  life,  and  all  the  unseal'd  mystery. 


XI. 


Before  me  lie  the  oak-crown'd  Annesley  hills, 
Before  me  lifts  the  ancient  Annesley  Hall 
Above  the  mossy  oaks.  ...  A  picture  fills 
With  forms  of  other  days.     A  maiden  tall 


BY   THE   SUN-DOWN  SEAS.  145 

And  fair ;  a  fiery  restless  boy,  with  all 
The  force  of  man ;  a  steed  that  frets  without ; 
A  long  thin  sword  that  rusts  upon  the  wall.  .  .  . 
The  generations  pass.  .  .  .  Behold !  about 
The  ivied  hall  the  fair-hair'd  children  sport  and  shout. 

XII. 

A  line  of  elms  along  the  hill-top  run ; 
The  diadem  of  oaks  is  torn  away ; 
Discrown'd  the  promontory  meets  the  sun, 
And  here  is  set  the  record  of  a  day, 
Of  meaning  full  and  memories ;  and  gray 
With  annals  dear  to  Annesley  Hall,  it  stands, 
A  stone,  with  but  this  single  word  to  say  — 
But  "  Inkerman ! "  and  lifts  its  unseen  hands, 
And  beckons  far  to  battle-fields  of  other  lands. 

xm. 

I  look  into  the  dread,  forbidding  tomb ; 
Lo !  darkness  —  death.     The  soul  on  shifting  sand 
That  belts  Eternity  gropes  in  the  gloom.  . . . 
The  black-wing'd  bird  goes  forth  in  search  of  land, 
But  turns  no  more  to  reach  my  reaching  hand.  .  .  . 
7  j 


146  BY   THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS. 

O  land  beyond  the  land!  I  lean  me  o'er 
Thy  dust  in  prayer  devout.  ...  I  rise,  I  stand 
Erect ;  the  stormy  seas  are  thine  no  more ; 
A  weary  white-wing' d  dove  has  touch'd  the  olive  shore. 

XIV. 

A  bay  wreath  woven  by  the  sun-down  west 
Hangs  damp  and  stain'd  upon  the  dank  gray  wall, 
Above  thy  time-soil'd  tomb  and  tatter'd  crest ; 
A  bay-wreath  gather'd  by  the  seas  that  call 
To  orient  Cathay,  that  break  and  fall 
On  shell-lined  shores  before  Tahiti's  breeze.  .  .  . 
A  slab,  a  crest,  a  wreath,  and  these  are  all 
Neglected,  tatter'd,  torn ;  yet  only  these 
The  world  bestows  for  song  that  rivall'd  singing  seas. 

xv. 

A  bay-wreath  wound  by  one  more  truly  brave 
Than  Shastan ;  fair  as  thy  eternal  fame, 
She  sat  and  wove  above  the  sunset  wave, 
And  wound  and  sang  thy  measures  and  thy  name. 
'Twas  wound  by  one,  yet  sent  with  one  acclaim 
By  many,  fair  and  warm  as  flowing  wine, 
And  purely  true,  and  tall  as  growing  flame, 
That  list  and  lean  in  moonlight's  mellow  shine 
To  tropic  tales  of  love  in  other  tongues  than  thine. 


BY   THE    SUN-DOWN  SEAS.  147 


XVI. 


I  bring  this  idle  reflex  of  thy  task, 
And  my  few  loves,  to  thy  forgotten  tomb : 
I  leave  them  here ;  and  here  all  pardon  ask 
Of  thee,  and  patience  ask  of  singers  whom 
Thy  majesty  hath  silenced.     I  resume 
My  staff,  and  now  my  face  is  to  the  West ; 
My  feet  are  worn ;  the  sun  is  gone,  a  gloom 
Has  mantled  Hucknall,  and  the  minstrel's  zest 
For  fame  is  broken  here,  and  here  he  pleads  for  rest. 


IN    THE    INDIAN    SUMMER. 


Sing  songs,  and  give  love  in  oblations; 
Be  glad,  and  forget  in  a  rhyme 
Mutations  of  time,  and  mutations 
Of  thought,  that  is  fiercer  than  time. 


IN    THE    INDIAN    SUMMER. 


r  I  "HE  sunlight  lay  in  gathered  sheaves 

Along  the  ground,  the  golden  leaves 
Possessed  the  land  and  lay  in  bars 
Above  the  lifted  lawn  of  green 
Beneath  the  feet,  or  fell,  as  stars 
Fall,  slantwise,  shimmering  and  still 
Upon  the  plain,  upon  the  hill, 
And  heaving  hill  and  plain  between. 

Some  steeds  in  panoply  were  seen, 
Strong,  martial  trained,  with  manes  in  air, 
And  tasselled  reins  and  mountings  rare ; 
Some  silen.t  people  here  and  there, 
That  gathered  leaves  with  listless  will, 
Or  moved  adown  the  dappled  green, 
Or  looked  away  with  idle  gaze 
Against  the  gold  and  purple  haze. 
You  might  have  heard  red  apples  fall, 


152  IN   THE    INDIAN  SUMMER. 

The  pheasant  on  the  farther  hill, 
A  single,  lonely,  locust  trill, 
Or  sliding  sable  cricket  call 
From  out  the  grass,  but  that  was  all. 

A  wanderer  of  many  lands 
Was  I,  a  weary  Ishmaelite 
That  knew  the  sign  of  lifted  hands ; 
Had  seen  the  Crescent-mosques,  had  seen 
The  Druid  oaks  of  Aberdeen ; 
Then  crossed  the  hilly  seas,  and  saw 
The  sable  pines  of  Mackinaw, 
And  lakes  that  lifted  cold  and  white. 

I  saw  the  sweet  Miami,  saw 
The  swift  Ohio  bent  and  rolled 
Between  his  gleaming  walls  of  gold, 
The  Wabash  banks  of  gray  papaw, 
The  Mississippi's  ash ;  at  morn 
Of  autumn,  when  the  oak  is  red, 
Saw  slanting  pyramids  of  corn, 
The  level  fields  of  spotted  swine, 
The  crooked  lanes  of  lowing  kine, 
And  in  the  burning  bushes  saw 
The  face  of  God,  with  bended  head. 


IN   THE   INDIAN  SUMMER.  1 53 

But  when  I  saw  her  face,  I  said, 
"Earth  has  no  fruits  so  fairly  red 
As  these  that  swing  above  my  head ; 
No  purpled  leaf,  no  poppied  land, 
Like  this  that  lies  in  reach  of  hand." 

Some  maple  leaves  hung  overhead, 
In  scarlet  hues  and  many  kind ; 
Some  danced  about  upon  the  sand, 
As  dancers  dancing  hand  in  hand, 
Begirt  in  gold,  arrayed  in  red, 
To  soft  songs  whistled  in  the  wind. 

Her  image  seemed  a  spirit's  then ; 

She  filled  the  lawn  whereon  she  stood, 

And,  soft,  unto  myself  I  said : 

"  O  soul,  inured  to  rue  and  rime, 

To  barren  toil  and  bitter  bread, 

To  biting  rime,  to  bitter  rue, 

Earth  is  not  Nazareth ;  be  good. 

O  sacred  Indian-summer  time 

Of  scarlet  fruits,  of  fragrant  wood, 
Of  purpled  clouds,  of  curling  haze  — 
O  days  of  golden  dreams  and  days 
Of  banished,  vanished  tawny  men, 
7* 


154  IN   THE   INDIAN  SUMMER. 

Of  martial  songs  and  manly  deeds  — 
Be  fair  to-day,  and  bear  me  true." 
We  mounted,  turned  the  sudden  steeds 
Toward  the  yellow  hills,  and  flew. 

My  faith !  but  she  rode  fair,  and  she 
Had  scarlet  berries  in  her  hair, 
And  on  her  hands  white  starry  stones. 
The  satellites  of  many  thrones 
Fall  down  before  her  gracious  air 
In  that  full  season.    Fair  to  see 
Are  pearly  shells,  red  virgin  gold, 
And  yellow  fruits,  and  sun-down  seas, 
And  babes  sun-brown ;  but  all  of  these, 
And  all  fair  things  of  sea  besides, 
Before  the  matchless,  manifold 
Accomplishments  of  her  who  rides 
With  autumn  summer  in  her  hair, 
And  knows  her  steed  and  holds  her  fair 
And  stately  in  her  stormy  seat, 
They  lie  like  playthings  at  her  feet. 

By  heaven !  she  was  more  than  fair, 
And  more  than  good,  and  matchless  wise, 
With  all  the  lovelight  in  her  eyes, 
And  all  the  midnight  in  her  hair. 


IN   THE   INDIAN  SUMMER.  I$5 

The  blowing  hair !  the  bannered  manes ! 
The  rustling  leaves  in  whispers  blown ! 
The  sounding  feet  made  melody, 
And  earth  was  filled  and  I  was  glad 
With  sweet  delight ;  ay,  even  sad 
From  pure  excess  of  joy,  that  fills 
The  soul  sometimes  too  eager  grown.  .  .  . 

Through  leafy  avenues  and  lanes, 
And  lo !  we  climbed  the  yellow  hills, 
With  russet  leaves  about  the  brows 
That  reached  from  over-reaching  trees. 
With  purpled  briers  to  the  knees 
Of  steeds  that  fretted  foamy  thews, 
We  turned  to  look  a  time  below 
Beneath  the  ancient  arch  of  boughs, 
That  bent  above  us  as  a  bow 
Of  promise,  bound  in  many  hues. 

I  reached  my  hand.     I  could  refuse 
All  fruits  but  this,  the  touch  of  her 
At  such  a  time.    But  lo !  she  leaned 
With  lifted  face  and  soul,  and  leant 
As  leans  devoutest  worshipper, 
Beyond  the  branches  scarlet  screened 


1 56  IN   THE   INDIAN  SUMMER. 

And  looked  above  me  and  beyond, 

So  fixed  and  silent,  still  and  fond, 

She  seemed  the  while  she  looked  to  lose 

Her  very  soul  in  such  intent. 

She  looked  on  other  things,  but  I, 

I  saw  nor  scarlet  leaf  nor  sky ; 

I  looked  on  her,  and  only  her. 

Afar  the  city  lay  in  smokes 
Of  battle,  and  the  martial  strokes 
Of  Progress  thundered  through  the  land 
And  struck  against  the  yellow  trees, 
And  rolled  in  hollow  echoes  on 
Like  sounding  limits  of  the  seas 
That  smite  the  shelly  shores  at  dawn. 

Beyond,  below,  on  either  hand 
There  reached  a  lake  in  belt  of  pine, 
A  very  dream ;  a  distant  dawn 
Asleep  in  all  the  autumn  shine, 
Some  like  one  of  another  land 
That  I  once  laid  a  hand  upon, 
And  loved  too  well,  and  named  as  mine. 

She  sometimes  touched  with  dimpled  hand 
The  drifting  mane  with  dreamy  air, 


IN   THE   INDIAN  SUMMER.  157 

She  sometimes  pushed  aback  her  hair ; 
But  still  she  leaned  and  looked  afar, 
As  silent  as  the  statues  stand,  — 
For  what?     For  falling  leaf ?    For  star, 
That  runs  before  the  bride  of  death  ?  .  .  . 
The  elements  were  still ;  a  breath 
Stirred  not,  the  level  western  sun 
Poured  in  his  arrows  every  one ; 
Spilled  all  his  wealth  of  purpled  red 
On  velvet  poplar  leaf  below, 
On  arching  chestnut  overhead 
In  all  the  hues  of  heaven's  bow. 

She  sat  the  upper  hill,  and  high. 
I  spurred  my  black  steed  to  her  side ; 
"  The  bow  of  promise,  lo ! "  I  cried, 
And  lifted  up  my  eyes  to  hers 
With  all  the  fervid  love  that  stirs 
The  blood  of  men  beneath  the  sun, 
And  reached  my  hand,  as  one  undone, 
In  suppliance  to  hers  above : 
"  The  bow  of  promise !  give  me  love ! 
I  reach  a  hand,  I  rise  or  fall, 
Henceforth  from  this :  put  forth  a  hand 
From  your  high  place  and  let  me  stand  — 


158  IN   THE   INDIAN  SUMMER. 

Stand  soul  and  body,  white  and  tall ! 
Why,  I  would  live  for  you,  would  die 
To-morrow,  but  to  live  to-day. 
Give  me  but  love,  and  let  me  live 
To  die  before  you.     I  can  pray 
To  only  you,  because  I  know, 
If  you  but  give  what  I  bestow, 
That  God  has  nothing  left  to  give." 

Christ !  still  her  stately  head  was  raised, 
And  still  she  silent  sat  and  gazed 
Beyond  the  trees,  beyond  the  town, 
To  where  the  dimpled  waters  slept, 
Nor  splendid  eyes  once  bended  down 
To  eyes  that  lifted  up  and  wept. 

She  spake  not,  nor  subdued  her  head 
To  note  a  hand  or  heed  a  word ; 
And  then  I  questioned  if  she  heard 
My  life-tale  on  that  leafy  hill, 
Or  any  fervid  word  I  said, 
And  spoke  with  bold,  vehement  will. 

She  moved,  and  from  her  bridled  hand 
She  sudden  drew  the  dainty  glove, 


IN   THE   INDIAN  SUMMER.  159 

Then  gazed  again  upon  the  land. 
The  dimpled  hand,  a  snowy  dove, 
Alit,  and  moved  along  the  mane 
Of  glossy  skeins ;  then,  overbold, 
It  fell  across  the  mane,  and  lay 
Before  my  eyes  a  sweet  bouquet 
Of  clustered  kisses,  white  as  snow. 
I  should  have  seized  it  reaching  so, 
But  something  bade  me  back,  —  a  ban ; 
Around  the  third  fair  finger  ran 
A  shining,  hateful  hoop  of  gold. 

Ay,  then  I  turned,  I  looked  away, 
I  sudden  felt  forlorn  and  chill ; 
I  whistled,  like,  for  want  to  say, 
And  then  I  said,  with  bended  head, 
"  Another's  ship  from  other  shores, 
With  richer  freight,  with  fairer  stores, 
Shall  come  to  her  some  day  instead ; " 
Then  turned  about,  —  and  all  was  still. 

Yea,  you  had  chafed  at  this,  and  cried, 
And  laughed  with  bloodless  lips,  and  said 
Some  bitter  things  to  sate  your  pride, 
And  tossed  aloft  a  lordly  head, 


160  IN   THE    INDIAN  SUMMER. 

And  acted  well  some  wilful  lie, 
And,  most  like,  cursed  yourself —  but  I 
Well,  you  be  crucified,  and  you 
Be  broken  up  with  lances  through 
The  soul,  then  you  may  turn  to  find 
Some  ladder-rounds  in  keenest  rods, 
Some  solace  in  the  bitter  rind, 
Some  favor  with  the  gods  irate  — 
The  everlasting  angered  gods  — 
And  ask  not  overmuch  of  fate. 


I  was  not  born,  was  never  blessed, 
With  cunning  ways,  nor  wit,  nor  skill 
In  woman's  ways,  nor  words  of  love, 
Nor  fashioned  suppliance  of  will. 
A  very  clown,  I  think,  had  guessed 
How  out  of  place  and  plain  I  seemed ; 
I,  I,  the  idol-worshipper, 
Who  saw  nor  maple-leaves  nor  sky 
But  took  some  touch  and  hue  of  her. 
Then,  after  all,  what  right  had  I 
To  lift  my  eyes  to  eyes  that  beamed 
So  far  beyond,  so  far  above  ? 


IN   THE   INDIAN  SUMMER.  l6l 

I  am  a  pagan,  heathen,  lo ! 
A  savage  man,  of  savage  lands ; 
Too  quick  to  love,  too  slow  to  know 
The  sign  that  tame  love  understands, 
Or  cold  approaches  pride  demands. 


Some  heedless  hoofs  went  sounding  down 
The  broken  way.    The  woods  were  brown, 
And  homely  now ;  some  idle  talk 
Of  folk  and  town ;  a  broken  walk ; 
But  sounding  feet  made  song  no  more 
For  me  along  that  leafy  shore. 

The  sun  caught  up  his  gathered  sheaves ; 
A  squirrel  caught  a  nut,  and  ran ; 
A  rabbit  rustled  in  the  leaves; 
A  whirling  bat,  black-winged  and  tan, 
Blew  swift  between  us ;  sullen  night 
Fell  down  upon  us ;  mottled  kine, 
With  lifted  heads,  went  lowing  down 
The  rocky  ridge  toward  the  town, 
And  all  the  woods  grew  dark  as  wine. 


OLIVE    LEAVES. 


0  boy  at  peace  upon  the  Delaware  I 

0  brother  mine,  that  fell  in  battle  front 
Of  life,  so  braver,  nobler  far  than  I, 
The  wanderer  who  vexed  all  gentleness. 
Receive  this  song  ;  I  have  but  this  to  give. 

1  may  not  rear  the  rich  man's  ghostly  stone  ; 
But  you,  through  all  my  follies  loving  still 
And  trusting  me  .  .  .  nay,  I  shall  not  forget. 

A  failing  hand  in  mine,  and  fading  eyes 

That  look'd  in  mine  as  from  another  lana, 

You  said:  u  Some  gentler  things  ;  a  song  for  Peace. 

'Mid  all  your  songs  for  men  one  song  for  God." 

And  then  the  dark-browed  mother,  Death,  bent  down 

Her  face  to  yours,  and  you  were  born  to  Him. 


OLIVE    LEAVES. 


AT       BETHLEHEM. 

"  In  the  desert  a  fountain  is  springing, 
In  the  wild  waste  there  still  is  a  tree." 

"  Though  the  many  lights  dwindle  to  one  light, 
There  is  help  if  the  heavens  have  one." 

"  Change  lays  not  her  hand  upon  truth." 

"VT  7ITH  incense  and  myrrh  and  sweet  spices, 

Frankincense  and  sacredest  oil 
In  ivory,  chased  with  devices 

Cut  quaint  and  in  serpentine  coil ; 
Heads  bared,  and  held  down  to  the  bosom ;  ' 

Brows  massive  with  wisdom  and  bronzed ; 
Beards  white  as  the  white  may  in  blossom, 

And  borne  to  the  breast  and  beyond,  — 
Came  the  Wise  of  the  East,  bending  lowly 

On  staffs,  with  their  garments  girt  round 
With  girdles  of  hair,  to  the  Holy 

Child  Christ,  in  their  sandals.     The  sound 


1 66  OLIVE   LEAVES. 

Of  song  and  thanksgiving  ascended  — 
Deep  night !     Yet  some  shepherds  afar 

Heard  a  wail  with  the  worshipping  blended, 
And  they  then  knew  the  sign  of  the  star. 


IN  PALESTINE. 


S^\  JEBUS  !  thou  mother  of  prophets, 

Of  soldiers  and  heroes  of  song ; 
Let  the  crescent  oppress  thee  and  scoff  its 
Blind  will,  let  the  days  do  thee  wrong ; 

But  to  me  thou  art  sacred  and  splendid, 
And  to  me  thou  art  matchless  and  fair, 

As  the  tawny  sweet  twilight,  with  blended 
Sunlight  and  red  stars  in  her  hair. 

Thy  fair  ships  once  came  from  sweet  Cyprus, 
And  fair  ships  drew  in  from  Gyrene, 

With  fruits  and  rich  robes  and  sweet  spices 
For  thee  and  thine  eminent  queen  ; 

And  camels  came  in  with  the  traces 
Of  white  desert  dust  in  their  hair 

As  they  kneel'd  in  the  loud  market-places, 
And  Arabs  with  lances  were  there. 


168  OLIVE   LEAVES. 

'Tis  past,  and  the  Bedouin  pillows 
His  head  where  thy  battlements  fall, 

And  thy  temples  flash  gold  to  the  billows, 
Never  more  over  turret ed  wall. 

'Tis  past,  and  the  green  velvet  mosses 
Have  grown  by  the  sea,  and  now  sore 

Does  the  for  billow  mourn  for  his  losses 
Of  lifted  white  ships  to  the  shore. 

Let  the  crescent  uprise,  let  it  flash  on 
Thy  dust  in  the  garden  of  death, 

Thy  chasten'd  and  passionless  passion 
Sunk  down  to  the  sound  of  a  breath ; 

You  lived  like  a  king  on  a  throne  and 
You  died  like  a  queen  of  the  south ; 

For  you  lifted  the  cup  with  your  own  hand 
To  your  proud  and  your  passionate  mouth ; 

Like  a  splendid  swift  serpent  surrounded 
With  fire  and  sword,  in  your  side 

You  struck  your  hot  fangs  and  confounded 
Your  foes ;  you  struck  deep,  and  so  —  died. 


BEYOND    JORDAN. 


\  -ND  they  came  to  him,  mothers  of  Judith, 

Dark-eyed  and  in  splendor  of  hair, 
Bearing  down  over  shoulders  of  beauty, 
And  bosoms  half  hidden,  half  bare ; 

And  they  brought  him  their  babes  and  besought 
him 

Half  kneeling,  with  suppliant  air, 
To  bless  the  brown  cherubs  they  brought  him, 

With  holy  hands  laid  in  their  hair. 

Then  reaching  his  hands  he  said,  lowly, 
"  Of  such  is  My  Kingdom ; "  and  then 

Took  the  brown  little  babes  in  the  holy 
White  hands  of  the  Saviour  of  men ; 

Held  them  close  to  his  heart  and  caress' d  them, 

Put  his  face  down  to  theirs  as  in  prayer, 
Put  their-hands  to  his  neck,  and  so  bless'd  them 

With  baby  hands  hid  in  his  hair. 
*  8 


FAITH. 


'"T^HERE  were  whimsical  turns  of  the  waters, 
There  were  rhythmical  talks  of  the  sea,  — 
There  were  gather' d  the  darkest-eyed  daughters 
Of  men,  by  the  dark  Galilee. 

A  blowing  full  sail,  and  a  parting 

From  multitudes,  living  in  him, 
A  trembling  of  lips,  and  tears  starting 

From  eyes  that  look'd  downward  and  dim. 

A  mantle  of  night  and  a  marching 

Of  storms,  and  a  sounding  of  seas, 
Of  furrows  of  foam  and  of  arching 

Black  billows  ;  a  bending  of  knees  ; 
The  rising  of  Christ  —  an  entreating  — • 

Hands  reach'd  to  the  seas  as  he  saith, 
"  Have  Faith  ! "     And  lo !  still  are  repeating 

All  seas,  "  Have  Faith  !     Have  Faith  !     Have 
Faith!" 


HOPE. 


"\  T  7HAT  song  is  well  sung  not  of  sorrow  ? 

What  triumph  well  won  without  pain  ? 
What  virtue  shall  be,  and  not  borrow 
Bright  lustre  from  many  a  stain  ? 

What  birth  has  there  been  without  travail  ? 

What  battle  well  won  without  blood  ? 
What  good  shall  earth  see  without  evil 

Ingarner'd  as  chaff  with  the  good? 

Lo !  the  Cross  set  in  rocks  by  the  Roman, 
And  nourish'd  by  blood  of  the  Lamb, 

And  water'd  by  tears  of  the  woman, 
Has  flourish'd,  has  spread  like  a  palm ; 

Has  spread  in  the  frosts,  and  far  regions 
Of  snows  in  the  North,  and  South  sands, 

Where  never  the  tramp  of  his  legions 

Was  heard,  or  has  reach'd  forth  his  red  hands. 


1/2  OLIVE    LEAVES. 

Be  thankful :  the  price  and  the  payment, 
The  birth,  the  privations  and  scorn, 

The  cross,  and  the  parting  of  raiment, 
Are  finish'd.     The  star  brought  us  morn 

Look  starward;  stand  far  and  unearth y, 
Free-soul'd  as  a  banner  unfurl'd. 

Be  worthy,  O  brother,  be  worthy ! 

For  a  God  was  the  price  of  the  world. 


CHARITY. 


T  TER  hands  were  clasped  downward  and  doubled, 

Her  head  was  held  down  and  depress'd, 
Her  bosom,  like  white  billows  troubled, 
Fell  fitful  and  rose  in  unrest ; 

Her  robes  were  all  dust,  and  disordered 

Her  glory  of  hair,  and  her  brow, 
Her  face,  that  had  lifted  and  lorded, 

Fell  pallid  and  passionless  now. 

She  heard  not  accusers  that  brought  her 

In  mockery  hurried  to  Him, 
Nor  heeded,  nor  said,  nor  besought  her 

With  eyes  lifted  doubtful  and  dim,. 

All  crush'd  and  stone-cast  in  behavior, 

She  stood  as  a  marble  would  stand, 
Then  the  Saviour  bent  down,  and  the  Saviour 

In  silence  wrote  on  in  the  sand. 


1/4  OLIVE   LEAVES. 

What  wrote  He  ?     How  fondly  one  lingers 
And  questions,  what  holy  command 

Fell  down  from  the  beautiful  fingers 
Of  Jesus,  like  gems  in  the  sand. 

O  better  the  Scian  uncherish'd 

Had  died  ere  a  note  or  device 
Of  battle  was  fashion'd,  than  perish'd 

This  only  line  written  by  Christ. 

He  arose  and  he  look'd  on  the  daughter 

Of  Eve,  like  a  delicate  flower, 
And  he  heard  the  revilers  that  brought  her  — 

Men  stormy,  and  strong  as  a  tower ; 

And  he  said,  "  She  has  sinn'd ;  let  the  blameless 
Come  forward  and  cast  the  first  stone !  " 

But  they,  they  fled  shamed  and  yet  shameless ; 
And  she,  she  stood  white  and  alone. 

Who  now  shall  accuse  and  arraign  us? 

What  man  shall  condemn  and  disown  ? 
Since  Christ  has  said  only  the  stainless 

Shall  cast  at  his  fellows  a  stone. 


OLIVE    LEAVES. 

For  what  man  can  •  -is  nis  bosom, 
And  touch  with  his  forefinger  there, 

And  say,  'Tis  as  snow,  as  a  blossom  ? 
Beware  of  the  stainless,  beware ! 

O  woman,  born  first  to  believe  us ; 

Yea,  also  born  first  to  forget ; 
Born  first  to  betray  and  deceive  us, 

Yet  first  to  repent  and  regret ! 

O  first  then  in  all  that  is  human, 
Lo !  first  where  the  Nazarene  trod, 

O  woman !  O  beautiful  woman ! 

Be  then  first  in  the  kingdom  of  God ! 


THE    LAST    SUPPER. 


"  And  when  they  had  sung  a  hymn  they  went  out 
into  the  Mount  of  Olives." 


"T  T7HAT  song  sang  the  twelve  with  the  Saviour 

When  finish' d  the  sacrament  wine  ? 
Were  they  bow'd  and  subdued  in  behavior, 
Or  bold  as  made  bold  with  a  sign  ? 

Were  the  hairy  breasts  strong  and  defiant  ? 

Were  the  naked  arms  brawny  and  strong  ? 
Were  the  bearded  lips  lifted  reliant, 

Thrust  forth  and  full  sturdy  with  song ! 

What  sang  they  ?    What  sweet  song  of  Zion 
With  Christ  in  their  midst  like  a  crown  ? 

While  here  sat  Saint  Peter,  the  lion ; 
And  there  like  a  lamb,  with  head  down, 


OLIVE    LEAVES.  177 

Sat  Saint  John,  with  his  silken  and  raven 

Rich  hair  on  his  shoulders,  and  eyes 
Lifting  up  to  the  faces  unshaven 

Like  a  sensitive  child's  in  surprise. 

Was  the  song  as  strong  fishermen  swinging 

Their  nets  full  of  hope  to  the  sea? 
Or  low,  like  the  ripple- wave,  singing 

Sea-songs  on  their  loved  Galilee  ? 

Were  they  sad  with  foreshadow  of  sorrows, 
Like  the  birds  that  sing  low  when  the  breeze 

Is  tip-toe  with  a  tale  of  to-morrows,  — 
Of  earthquakes  and  sinking  of  seas  ? 

Ah !  soft  was  their  song  as  the  waves  are 

That  fall  in  low  musical  moans ; 
And  sad  I  should  say  as  the  winds  are 

That  blow  by  the  white  gravestones. 


8* 


A    SONG    FOR    TEACE. 


A  S  a  tale  that  is  told,  as  a  vision, 
Forgive  and  forget ;  for  I  say 
That  the  true  shall  endure  the  derision 
Of  the  false  till  the  full  of  the  day; 

ii. 

Ay,  forgive  as  you  would  be  forgiven ; 

Ay,  forget,  lest  the  ill  you  have  done 
Be  remember'd  against  you  in  heaven 

And  all  the  days  under  the  sun. 

in. 

For  who  shall  have  bread  without  labor? 

And  who  shall  have  rest  without  price  ? 
And  who  shall  hold  war  with  his  neighbor 

With  promise  of  peace  with  the  Christ  ? 


OLIVE   LEAVES. 


IV. 


The  years  may  lay  hand  on  fair  heaven ; 

May  place  and  displace  the  red  stars ; 
May  stain  them,  as  blood-stains  are  driven 

At  sunset  in  beautiful  bars ; 


v. 


May  shroud  them  in  black  till  they  fret  us 
As  clouds  with  their  showers  of  tears ; 

May  grind  us  to  dust  and  forget  us, 
May  the  years,  O,  the  pitiless  years ! 


VI. 


The  precepts  of  Christ  are  beyond  them ; 

The  truths  by  the  Nazarene  taught, 
With  the  tramp  of  the  ages  upon  them, 

They  endure  as  though  ages  were  nought ; 


vn. 


The  deserts  may  drink  up  the  fountains, 
The  forests  give  place  to  the  plain, 

The  main  may  give  place  to  the  mountains, 
The  mountains  return  to  the  main ; 


l8o  OLIVE   LEAVES. 

VIII. 

Mutations  of  worlds, and  mutations 
Of  suns  may  take  place,  but  the  reign 

Of  Time,  and  the  toils  and  vexations 
Bequeath  them,  no,  never  a  stain. 

IX. 

Go  forth  to  the  fields  as  one  sowing, 
Sing  songs  and  be  glad  as  you  go, 

There  are  seeds  that  take  root  without  showing, 
And  bear  some  fruit  whether  or  no. 


And  the  sun  shall  shine  sooner  or  later, 

Though  the  midnight  breaks  ground  on  the  morn, 

Then  appeal  you  to  Christ,  the  Creator, 
And  to  gray-bearded  Time,  His  first-born. 


FALLEN    LEAVES. 


Some  fugitive  lines  that  allure  us  no  more. 
Some  fragments  that  fell  to  the  sea  out  of  time  ; 
Unfinished  and  guiltless  of  thought  as  of  rhyme, 
Thrown  now  on  the  world  like  waifs  on  the  shore. 


FALLEN    LEAVES. 


PALM    LEAVES. 

/TniIATCH  of  palm  and  a  patch  of  clover, 

Breath  of  balm  in  a  field  of  brown, 
The  clouds  blew  up  and  the  birds  flew  over, 
And  I  look'd  upward :  but  who  look'd  down  ? 

Who  was  true  in  the  test  that  tried  us? 

Who  was  it  mock'd  ?     Who  now  may  mourn 
The  loss  of  a  love  that  a  cross  denied  us, 

With  folded  hands  and  a  heart  forlorn  ? 

God  forgive  when  the  fair  forget  us. 

The  worth  of  a  smile,  the  weight  of  a  tear, 
Why,  who  can  measure  ?     The  fates  beset  us. 

We  laugh  a  moment ;  we  mourn  a  year. 


THOMAS    OF    TIGRE. 


of  Tigre,  comrade  true ! 
Where  in  all  thine  isles  art  thou  ? 
Sailing  on  Fonseca  blue  ? 
Nearing  Amapala  now  ? 
King  of  Tigre,  where  art  thou  ? 

Battling  for  Antilles'  queen  ? 
Sabre  hilt,  or  olive  bough  ? 
Crown  of  dust,  or  laurel  green  ? 
Roving  love,  or  marriage  vow  ? 
King  and  comrade,  where  art  thou  ? 

Sailing  on  Pacific  seas  ? 
Pitching  tent  in  Pimo  now  ? 
Underneath  magnolia  trees  ? 
Thatch  of  palm,  or  cedar  bough  ? 
Soldier-singer,  where  art  thou  ? 


FALLEN  LEAVES.  l85 

Coasting  on  the  Oregon  ? 
Saddle,  bow,  or  birchen  prow  ? 
Round  the  Isles  of  Amazon? 
Pampas,  plain,  or  mountain  brow? 
Prince  of  rovers,  where  art  thou  ? 

Answer  me  from  out  the  West. 
I  am  weary,  stricken  now ; 
Thou  art  strong  and  I  would  rest : 
Reach  a  hand  with  lifted  brow,  — 
King  of  Tigre,  where  art  thou? 


IN    YOSEMITE    VALLEY. 


OOUND!  sound!  sound! 

O  colossal  walls,  as  crown'd 
In  one  eternal  thunder ! 

Sound!  sound!  sound! 
O  ye  oceans  overhead, 
While  we  walk,  subdued  in  wonder, 
In  the  ferns  and  grasses,  under 
And  beside  the  swift  Merced  1 

Fret !  fret !  fret ! 
Streaming,  sounding  banners,  set 
On  the  giant  granite  castles 
In  the  clouds  and  in  the  snow ! 
But  the  foe  he  comes  not  yet,  — 
We  are  loyal,  valiant  vassals, 
And  we  touch  the  trailing  tassels, 
Of  the  banners  far  below. 

Surge!  surge!  surge! 
From  the  white  Sierra's  verge, 


FALLEN  LEAVES.  1 87 

To  the  very  valley  blossom. 

Surge!  surge!  surge! 
Yet  the  song-bird  builds  a  home, 
And  the  mossy  branches  cross  them, 
And  the  tasselled  tree-tops  toss  them, 
In  the  clouds  of  falling  foam. 

Sweep !  sweep !  sweep ! 
O  ye  heaven-born  and  deep, 
In  one  dread,  unbroken  chorus ! 
"We  may  wonder  or  may  weep,  — 
We  may  wait  on  God  before  us ; . 
We  may  shout  or  lift  a  hand,  — 
We  may  bow  down  and  deplore  us, 
But  may  never  understand. 

Beat!  beat!  beat! 
We  advance,  but  would  retreat 
From  this  restless,  broken  breast 
Of  the  earth  in  a  convulsion. 
We  would  rest,  but  dare  not  rest, 
For  the  angel  of  expulsion 
From  this  Paradise  below 
Waves  us  onward  and  ...  we  go. 


DEAD    IN    THE    SIERRAS. 


T  TIS  footprints  have  failed  us, 

Where  berries  are  red, 
And  madronos  are  rankest. 
The  hunter  is  d^ad  I 

The  grizzly  may  pass 
By  his  half-open  door; 

May  pass  and  repass 
On  his  path,  as  of  yore  ; 

The  panther  may  crouch 
In  the  leaves  on  his  limb ; 

May  scream  and  may  scream,  — 
It  is  nothing  to  him. 

Prone,  bearded,  and  breasted 
Like  columns  of  stone ; 

And  tall  as  a  pine  — 
As  a  pine  overthrown ! 


FALLEN  LEA  VES.  1 89 

His  camp-fires  gone, 

What  else  can  be  done 
Than  let  him  sleep  on 

Till  the  light  of  the  sun  ? 

Ay,  tombless !  what  of  it  ? 

Marble  is  dust, 
Cold  and  repellent ; 

And  iron  is  rust. 


IN    SOUTHERN    CALIFORNIA. 


TT  THERE  the  cocoa  and  cactus  are  neighbors, 

*  Where  the  fig  and  the  fir-tree  are  one ; 

Where  the  brave  corn  is  lifting  bent  sabres 
And  flashing  them  far  in  the  sun ; 

Where  the  maidens  blush  red  in  their  tresses 

Of  night,  and  retreat  to  advance, 
And  the  dark,  sweeping  eyelash  expresses 

Deep  passion,  half  hush'd  in  a  trance ; 

Where  the  fig  is  in  leaf,  where  the  blossom 

Of  orange  is  fragrant  as  fair,  — 
Santa  Barbara's  balm  in  the  bosom, 

Her  sunny,  soft  winds  in  the  hair ; 

Where  the  grape  is  most  luscious,  where  laden 
Long  branches  bend  double  with  gold ; 

Los  Angelos  leans  like  a  maiden, 

Red,  blushing,  half  shy,  and  half  bold. 


FALLEN-  LEA  VES.  191 

Where  passion  was  born,  and  where  poets 

Are  deeper  in  silence  than  song, 
A  love  knows  a  love,  and  may  know  its 

Reward,  yet  may  never  know  wrong. 

Where  passion  was  born  and  where  blushes 
Gave  birth  to  my  songs  of  the  South, 

And  a  song  is  a  love-tale,  and  rushes, 
Unchid,  through  the  red  of  the  mouth ; 

Where  an  Adam  in  Eden  reposes, 

I  repose,  I  am  glad,  and  take  wine 
In  the  clambering,  redolent  roses, 

And  under  my  fig  and  my  vine. 


WHO    SHALL    SAY? 


A     SINKING  sun,  a  sky  of  red, 

In  bars  and  banners  overhead, 
And  blown  apart  like  curtains  drawn ; 
Afar  a-sea  a  blowing  sail 
That  shall  go  down  before  the  dawn ; 
And  they  are  passion-toss'd  and  pale 
The  two  that  stand  and  look  alone 
And  silent,  as  two  shafts  of  stone 
Set  head  and  foot  above  the  dead. 

They  watch  the  ship,  the  weary  sun, 
The  banner'd  streamers  every  one, 
Till  darkness  hides  them  in  her  hair. 
The  winds  come  in  as  cold  as  death, 
And  not  a  palm  above  the  pair 
To  lift  a  lance  or  break  a  breajth. 


FALLEN  LEA  VES.  1 93 

The  hollow  of  the  ocean  fills 

Like  sounding  hollow  halls  of  stone, 

And  not  a  banner  streams  above ; 

The  sea  is  set  in  snowy  hills. 

The  ship  is  lost.    The  winds  are  blown 

Unheeded  now ;  yet  who  shall  say : 

"  We  had  been  wiser  so  than  they 

Who  wept  and  watch'd  the  parting  sail 

In  silence  ;  mute  with  sorrow,  pale 

With  weeping  for  departed  love  "  ? 


A    LOVE -SONG. 


TF  earth  is  an  oyster,  love  is  the  pearl, 

As  pure  as  pure  caresses ; 
Then  loosen  the  gold  of  your  hair,  my  girl, 
And  hide  my  pearl  in  your  tresses. 

So,  coral  to  coral  and  pearl  to  pearl, 
And  a  cloud  of  curls  above  me, 

O  bury  me  deep,  my  beautiful  girl, 
And  then  confess  you  love  me. 

The  world  goes  over  my  beautiful  girl 
In  glitter  and  gold  and  odor  of  roses, 

In  eddies  of  splendor,  in  oceans  of  pearl, 
But  here  the  heaven  reposes.  .  .  . 

The  world  it  is  wide  ;  men  go  their  ways, 
But  love  it  is  wise,  and  of  all  the  hours, 

And  of  all  the  beautiful  sun-born  days, 
It  sips  their  sweets  as  the  bees  sip  flowers. 


DOWN    INTO    THE    DUST. 


TS  it  worth  while  that  we  jostle  a  brothei 

Bearing  his  load  on  the  rough  road  of  life  ? 
Is  it  worth  while  that  we  jeer  at  each  other 

In  blackness  of  heart  ?  —  that  we  war  to  the  knife  ? 

God  pity  us  all  in  our  pitiful  strife. 

God  pity  us  all  as  we  jostle  each  other; 

God  pardon  us  all  for  the  triumphs  we  feel 
When  a  fellow  goes  down  'neath  his  load  on  the  heather, 

Pierced  to  the  heart :  words  are  keener  than  steel, 

And  mightier  far  for  woe  or  for  weal. 


Were  it  not  well,  in  this  brief  little  journey 
On  over  the  isthmus,  down  into  the  tide, 

We  give  him  a  fish  instead  of  a  serpent, 
Ere  folding  the  hands  to  be  and  abide 
Forever  and  aye  in  dust  at  his  side  ? 


196  FALLEN  LEAVES. 

Look  at  the  roses  saluting  each  other ; 

Look  at  the  herds  all  at  peace  on  the  plain  — 
Man,  and  man  only,  makes  war  on  his  brother, 

And  laughs  in  his  heart  at  his  peril  and  pain ; 

Shamed  by  the  beasts  that  go  down  on  the  plain. 

Is  it  worth  while  that  we  battle  to  humble 
Some  poor  fellow-soldier  down  into  the  dust  ? 

God  pity  us  all !     Time  eftsoon  will  tumble 
All  of  us  together  like  leaves  in  a  gust, 
Humbled  indeed  down  into  the  dust. 


IN    SAN    FRANCISCO. 


~T    O  !  here  sit  we  mid  the  sun-down  seas 

And  the  white  sierras.   The  swift,  sweet  breeze 

Is  about  us  here ;  and  a  sky  so  fair 
Is  bending  above  in  its  azaline  hue, 
That  you  gaze  and  you  gaze  in  delight,  and  you 

See  God  and  the  portals  of  heaven  there. 

Yea,  here  sit  we  where  the  white  ships  ride 
In  the  morn,  made  glad  and  forgetful  of  night, 

The  white  and  the  brown  men  side  by  side 

In  search  of  the  truth,  and  betrothed  to  the  right; 

For  these  are  the  idols,  and  only  these, 

Of  men  that  abide  by  the  sun-down  seas. 

The  brown  brave  hand  of  the  harvester, 
The  delicate  hand  of  the  prince  untried, 

The  rough  hard  hand  of  the  carpenter, 
They  are  all  upheld  with  an  equal  pride ; 

And  the  prize  it  is  his  to  be  crown'd  or  blest, 

Prince  or  peon,  who  bears  him  best. 


FALLEN  LEAVES. 

Yea,  here  sit  we  by  the  golden  gate. 

Nor  demanding  much,  but  inviting  you  all, 
Nor  publishing  loud,  but  daring  to  wait, 

And  great  in  much  that  the  days  deem  small ; 
And  the  gate  it  is  God's,  to  Cathay,  Japan,  — 
And  who  shall  shut  it  in  the  face  of  man  ? 


SHADOWS    OF    SHASTA. 


TN  the  place  where  the  grizzly  reposes, 

Under  peaks  where  a  right  is  a  wrong, 
I  have  memories  richer  than  roses, 

Sweet  echoes  more  sweet  than  a  song ; 

Sounds  sweet  as  the  voice  of  a  singer 
Made  sacred  with  sorrows  unsaid, 

And  a  love  that  implores  me  to  linger 
For  the  love  of  dead  days  and  their  dead. 

But  I  turn,  throwing  kisses,  returning 
To  strife  and  to  turbulent  men, 

As  to  learn  to  be  wise,  as  unlearning 
All  things  that  were  manliest  then. 


AT       SEA. 


\T  7"E  part  as  ships  on  a  pathless  main, 

Gayly  enough,  for  the  sense  of  pain 

Is  asleep  at  first :  but  ghosts  will  arise 
When  we  would  repose,  and  the  forms  will  come 
And  walk  when  we  walk,  and  will  not  be  dumb, 

Nor  yet  forget  with  their  wakeful  eyes. 

When  we  most  need  rest,  and  the  perfect  sleep, 
Some  hand  will  reach  from  the  dark,  and  keep 

The  curtains  drawn  and  the  pillows  toss'd 
Like  a  tide  of  foam ;  and  one  will  say 
At  night,  —  O  Heaven,  that  it  were  day ! 
And  one  by  night  through  the  misty  tears 
Will  say,  —  O  Heaven,  the  days  are  years, 

And  I  would  to  Heaven  that  the  waves  were  cross'd. 


A    MEMORY    OF    SANTA    BARBARA. 


IL/'EA,  Santa  Barbara  is  fair ; 

A  sunny  clime  and  sweet  to  touch, 
For  tamer  men  of  gentler  mien, 
But  as  for  me  —  another  scene. 
A  land  below  the  Alps  I  know, 
Set  well  with  grapes  and  girt  with  much 
Of  woodland  beauty  ;  I  shall  share 
My  rides  by  night  below  the  light 
Of  Manua  Loa,  ride  below 
The  steep  and  starry  Hebron  height ; 
Shall  lift  my  hands  in  many  lands, 
See  South  Sea  palm,  see  Northland  fir, 
See  white-wing'd  swans,  see  red-bill'd  doves  ; 
See  many  lands  and  many  loves, 
But  never  more  the  face  of  her. 

And  what  her  name  or  where  the  place 
Of  her  who  makes  my  Mecca's  prayer, 
Concerns  you  not ;  not  any  trace 
9* 


202  FALLEN  LEAVES. 

Of  entrance  to  my  temple's  shrine 
Remains.     The  memory  is  mine, 
And  none  shall  pass  the  portals  there. 

The  present !  take  it,  hold  it  thine, 
But  that  one.  hour  out  from  all 
The  years  that  are,  or  yet  shall  fall, 
I  pluck  it  out,  I  name  it  mine, 
And  whistle  by  the  rest,  and  laugh 
To  see  it  blown  about  as  chaff; 
That  hour  bound  in  sunny  sheaves. 
With  tassell'd  shocks  of  golden  shine, 
That  hour,  wound  in  scarlet  leaves, 
Is  mine.     I  stretch  a  hand  and  swear 
An  oath  that  breaks  into  a  prayer ; 
By  heaven,  it  is  wholly  mine ! 

I  see  the  gold  and  purple  gleam 
Of  autumn  leaves,  a  reach  of  seas, 
A  silent  rider  like  a  dream 
Moves  by,  a  mist  of  mysteries, 
And  these  are  mine,  and  only  these, 
Yet  they  be  more  in  my  esteem, 
Than  silver'd  sails  on  coral'd  seas. 


FALLEN  LEAVES.  203 

Let  red-leaf  d  boughs  sweet  fruits  bestow, 
Let  fame  of  foreign  lands  be  mine, 
Let  blame  of  faithless  men  befall ; 
It  matters  nothing ;  over  all, 
One  hour  arches  like  a  bow 
Of  promise  blent  in  many  hues, 
That  tide  nor  time  shall  bid  decline ; 
Or  storms  of  all  the  years  refuse. 


SUMMER    FROSTS. 


T^ROSTS  of  an  hour !     Fruits  of  a  season ! 

Who  foresees  them  ?    Slain  in  a  day, 
The  loves  of  a  lustrum.     Who  shall  say 
The  heart  has  sense  or  the  soul  has  reason  ? 

.  .  .  One  not  knowing  and  one  not  caring. 
.  .  .  Leaves  in  their  pathway.     Let  them  part ; 

She  with  the  gifts  of  a  gracious  bearing, 
He  with  the  pangs  of  a  passionate  heart. 


SLEEP    THAT   WAS    NOT    SLEEP. 


IT)  ACK  there,  madam !    Mark  you,  there ! 

I  lie  crouch'd  against  the  wall, 
And  I  dare  not  lift  a  finger, 
Dare  not  lift  my  eyes  or  call, 
While  you  hesitate  and  linger, 
Leering  through  your  tangled  hair ; 
Drop  the  curtains  !     Back,  I  say  ! 
Lift  aside  your  tangled  hair 
Overhanging  coffin'd  tlay, 
Resurrected  for  a  day, 
Cold  and  wet  as  cast-away. 

•  •  •  •  • 

...  It  was  hard,  but  what  was  better 
For  a  man  so  strangely  born 
Underneath  the  stars  or  sun, 
Than  the  savage  race  I  run 
Through  the  midnight  to  the  morn, 
Spite  of  fate  or  prison  fetter  ? 


206  FALLEN  LEAVES. 

Through  the  darkness  to  the  dawn, 
What  beneath  the  sun  was  better  ? 
Then  I  turn'd,  and  .  .  .  you  were  gone. 
.  .  .  Glory  had  a  price  ;  I  paid  her ! 
Truth  was  doubtful ;  I  betray'd  her ! 
You  obey'd  her  to  the  letter. 
And  what  profits  ?  nothing,  save 
That  I  have  slain  the  days  full  well,  — 
That  you  .  .  .  are  dead  and  in  your  grave  ; 
That  I  ...  am  living  and  in  hell. 

Yea !  before- time  you  beset  me, 
Laugh'd  and  vow'd  to  not  forget  me, 
Leer'd  and  mock'd  with  all  your  might 
When  the  fever  held  its  riot 
And  the  doctors  bade  be  quiet. 
Christ !  you  came  to  my  bedside 
In  the  middle  of  the  night, 
With  your  two  hands  on  your  heart,  — 
And  you  press'd  on  my  bedside, 
And  so  press'd  upon  your  heart 
That  the  blood,  all  thick  and  blacken'd, 
When  your  bony  fingers  slacken'd, 
Oozed  between  them  to  the  floor,  — 
Oh,  that  ghostly,  gory  floor ! 


FALLEN  LEAVES.  2O/ 

And  your  mantle  it  was  moulded, 
And  streak'd  yellow  where  it  folded, 
Then  your  heavy,  slimy  hair, 
On  your  bosom  blue  and  bare, 
Which  you  did  not  try  to  hide  ! 
That  you  know  was  nothing  fair, 
As  you  press' d  on  my  bedside! 
Then  your  eyes  had  such  a  glare, 
And  the  smell  of  death  was  there, 
And  the  spirits  that  were  with  you 
Whistled  through  the  mossy  door, 
And  they  danced  upon  my  bosom, 
And  they  tangled  up  my  hair, 
And  made  crosses  on  the  floor. 

It  was  not  my  fault,  remember, 

All  this  life  of  black  disasters, 
All  this  life  of  dark  December, 

All  this  heart-sickness  and  sadness. 
Though  we  both  did  have  our  masters, 

Yours  was  Love  and  mine  Ambition, 
Mine  is  driving  me  to  madness, 

Yours,  it  drove  you  to  perdition. 


208  FALLEN  LEAVES. 

Yes,  some  time,  if  you  will  have  it, 
When  this  hot  brain  is  less  rabid, 
"When  our  masters  both  are  sleeping, 
When  the  storm  the  stars  is  keeping, 
Leave  that  yellow  moulded  mantle, 
That  dull,  sullen,  frozen  stare, 
And  the  cold  death  in  your  hair, 
And  I  will  no  more  upbraid  you ; 
Leave  the  darkness  where  they  laid  you, 
Leave  the  dampness  you  inhabit. 

I  will  meet  you  just  one  minute 
By  the  oak-tree,  you  remember, 
With  the  grape-vine  tangled  in  it ; 
I  will  tell  you  one  sweet  story, 
With  sweet  balm  and  healing  in  it ; 
You  will  sigh  Memento  mori,  — 
But  remember,  now  remember, 
I  remain  there  but  one  minute. 


"SIERRAS    ADIOS." 


TT  7ITH  the  buckler  and  sword  into  battle 

*  *       I  moved,  I  was  matchless  and  strong ; 
I  stood  in  the  rush  and  the  rattle 

Of  shot,  and  the  spirit  of  song 
Was  upon  me ;  and  youthful  and  splendid 

My  armor  flashed  far  in  the  sun 
As  I  sang  of  my  land.    It  is  ended, 

And  all  has  been  done,  and  undone. 

I  descend  with  my  dead  in  the  trenches, 

To-night  I  bend  down  on  the  plain 
In  the  dark,  and  a  memory  wrenches 

The  soul;  I  turn  up  to  the  rain 
The  cold  and  the  beautiful  faces, 

Ay,  faces  forbidden  for  years, 
Turn'd  up  to  my  face  with  the  traces 

Of  blood  to  the  white  rain  of  tears. 

N 


210  FALLEN  LEAVES. 

Count  backward  the  years  on  your  fingers, 

While  forward  rides  yonder  white  moon, 
Till  the  soul  turns  aside,  and  it  lingers 

By  a  grave  that  was  born  of  a  June ; 
By  the  grave  of  a  soul,  where  the  grasses 

Are  tangled  as  witch- woven  hair ; 
Where  footprints  are  not,  and  where  passes 

Not  any  thing  known  anywhere ; 

By  a  grave  without  tombstone  or  token, 

At  a  tomb  where  not  fern  leaf  or  fir, 
Root  or  branch,  was  once  bended  or  broken, 

To  bestow  there  the  body  of  her ; 
For  it  lives,  and  the  soul  perish'd  only, 

And  alone  in  that  land,  with  these  hands, 
Did  I  lay  the  dead  soul,  and  all  lonely 

Does  it  lie  to  this  day  in  the  sands. 

Lo !  a  wild  little  maiden  with  tresses 
Of  gold  on  the  wind  of  the  hills : 

Ay,  a  wise  little  maiden  that  guesses 
Some  good  in  the  cruelest  ills  ; 

And  a  babe  with  its  baby-fists  doubled, 
And  thrust  to  my  beard,  and  within, 


FALLEN  LEA  VES.  2 1 1 

As  lie  laughs  like  a  fountain  half-troubled, 
When  my  finger  chucks  under  his  chin. 

Should  the  dead  not  decay,  when  the  culture 

Of  fields  be  resumed  in  the  May  ? 
Lo !  the  days  are  dark-wing'd  as  the  vulture  ! 

Let  them  swoop,  then,  and  bear  them  away : 
By  the  walks  let  me  cherish  red  flowers, 

By  the  wall  teach  one  tendril  to  run  ; 
Lest  I  wake,  and  I  watch  all  the  hours 

I  shall  ever  see  under  the  sun. 

It  is  well,  may  be  so,  to  bear  losses, 

And  to  bend  and  bow  down  to  the  rod ; 
Jf  the  scarlet  red  bars  and  the  crosses 

Be  but  rounds  up  the  ladder  to  God. 
But  this  mocking  of  men !     Ah,  that  enters 

The  marrow  !  the  murmurs  that  swell 
To  reproach  for  my  song-love,  that  centres, 

Vast  land,  upon  thee,  are  not  well. 

And  I  go,  thanking  God  in  my  going, 
That  an  ocean  flows  stormy  and  deep, 

And  yet  gentler  to  me  is  its  flowing 

Than  the  storm  that  forbids  me  to  sleep. 


212  FALLEN  LEAVES. 

And  I  go,  thanking  God,  with  hands  lifted, 
That  a  land  lies  beyond  where  the  free 

And  the  gentle  of  heart  and  the  gifted 
Of  soul  have  a  home  in  the  sea. 


Cambridge  :    Press  of  Jolin  Wilson  &  Son. 


MR.    MILLERS 

SONGS  OF  THE  SUN-LANDS. 


Selections  from  some  criticisms  of  Mr.  Miller's 
new  volume  of  Poems,  'which  'have  appeared  in 
the  English  journals. 

Front  the  Athenceum, 

"  Songs  of  the  Sun-Lands  "  is,  it  will  be  seen,  similar  in  character  to  "  Songs 
of  the  Sierras,"  previously  published.  The  same  kind  of  materials  is  used,  and 
the  same  kind  of  faults  and  excellence  in  their  use  is  observable.  Mr.  Miller's 
muse  in  this,  its  second  flight,  has  taken  the  same  direction  as  in  its  first  essay, 
but,  upon  the  whole,  we  think,  with  a  stronger  wing.  The  new  work  gives  evi 
dence  that  the  author  has  not,  as  was  feared,  intensified  his  former  mannerism, 
but  has  profited  by  the  advice  of  friends  and  critics. 


From  the  Academy. 

Mr.  Miller  has  a  faculty  of  making  himself  felt  through  what  he  writes,  and  we 
quit  his  poems  with  a  mingled  sense  of  admiration  and  regret :  admiration  of  his 
really  great  powers ;  regret  that  he  seems  unable  to  pursue  one  of  two  courses  in 
their  application,  &c. 

From  the  Westminster  Review. 

We  some  time  ago  called  especial  attention  to  this  new  American  poet's  first  work, 
"The  Songs  of  the  Sierras,"  nor  do  we  repent  of  our  criticism.  He  has  perhaps 
lost  something  of  that  boldness,  and  that  flavor  of  originality,  which  in  a  certain 
way  reminded  one  of  Walt  Whitman  without  his  special  weaknesses  and  extrava 
gances.  Still,  to  counterbalance  this  loss,  he  has  gained  a  certain  polish.  Yet 
here  we  perceive  a  danger.  But  Mr.  Miller  must  be  careful  that  he  does  not  buy 
elegance  at  too  dear  a  price.  We  ourselves  prefer  the  roughness  of  the  backwoods 
of  America  to  all  the  drawing-room  conventionalities  of  Europe.  We  prefer  Mr. 
Joaquin  Miller's  native  reed-pipe  to  any  guitar.  The  most  perfect  poem  in  the 
(I) 


present  collection  is  without  doubt  "  The  Isles  of  the  Amazons."  Here  we  see  Mr. 
Miller  at  his  best.  Here  he  has  put  forth  his  real  strength.  It  is,  in  short,  a 
poem  which  will  live. 


From  the  Standard* 

No  poetry  of  the  present  age  has  any  claim  to  the  unconventional  freedom,  the 
supreme  independence,  the  spontaneity,  the  bold  and  vigorous  originality,  the  all- 
pervading  passion,  the  unresting  energy,  and  the  prodigal  wealth  of  imagery  which 
stamp  the  poetry  before  us.  ...  For  further  specimens  of  Mr.  Miller's  present 
poems  we  must  send  our  readers  to  the  volume  itself,  which  is,  with  all  its  faults,  a 
very  garden  of  delight,  adorned  everywhere  as  it  is  with  the  fairest  blooms  of  fancy, 
and  breathing  everywhere  as  it  does  of  the  sweetest  and  purest  inspirations  of  the 
muse. 


From  the  London  Sunday  Times. 

The  success  both  in  England  and  America  of  Mr.  Joaquin  Miller's  "  Songs  of 
the  Sierras"  has  been  uncontested.  The  tide  of  passionate  life  with  which  they 
were  charged,  and  the  fervor  of  poetic  appreciation  and  sympathy  they  displayed, 
combined  with  the  startling  beauty  and  power  of  portions  of  the  workmanship  to 
render  men  insensible  to  irregularities  and  inequalities  of  style.  .  .  .  Here  we  bid 
farewell  to  Mr.  Miller's  delightful  volume.  A  pleasanter  companion  into  the  en 
chanted  gardens  of  poetry  we  do  not  seek.  He  knows 

"  each  lane  and  every  alley  green, 
Dingle  or  bushy  dell  of  the  wild  wood, 
And  every  bosky  bourn  from  side  to  side," 

and  he  conducts  us  to  scenes  to  which  we  have  no  other  guide.  That  Mr.  Miller 
had  poetic  inspiration  his  first  volume  abundantly  proved.  That  his  verse  will  not 
be  a  mere  well  at  which  the  traveller  can  drink  once  ere  pursuing  his  journey,  but 
a  full  river  of  song  hurrying  through  forest  and  meadow,  and  bearing  with  it  carol 
of  bird  and  scent  of  flower  and  hay,  is  now  sufficiently  established. 


From  tJte  Bookseller. 

Resembling  his  previously  published  collection,  in  that  the  verses  are  prin 
cipally  descriptive  of  strange,  far-away  countries,  and  contain  numerous  bright, 
beautiful  pictures  of  external  nature,  these  songs  of  the  sun-lands  will  be  warmly 
welcomed  as  the  riper  efforts  of  a  real  poet.  .  .  .  And  so  we  might  proceed  through 
poem  after  poem,  finding  images  of  great  and  sterling  poetic  value.  Nor,  perhaps, 
would  it  be  difficult  to  discover  some  that  might  be  called  trivial  and  poor ;  but  we 
prefer  to  judge  a  writer  by  his  best  rather  than  by  his  worst ;  and  Mr.  Miller's 
best  lines  stamp  him  a  true  man,  —  a  man  of  sympathetic  instincts  and  deep  rev 
erence  for  all  that  is  high  and  noble  in  nature  and  humanity. 

(2)  ' 


From  the  Nonconformist, 

Of  all.  American  poetry  in  recent  years,  that  of  Mr.  Joaquin  Miller  is  the  fresh 
est.  He  is  a  new  poet  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  term.  He  owes  allegiance  to 
no  transatlantic  masters,  and  he  is  no  servile  imitator  of  the  modern  minstrelsy  of 
our  own  country.  In  outward  form  —  in  the  mechanism  of  his  poetry  —  he  of 
course  follows  the  fashion  of  the  times  ;  but  the  spirit  is  new,  the  tone  is  indi 
vidual  and  distinct.  In  his  poems  for  the  first  time  the  prairies,  the  sierras,  and 
the  new  and  old  life  of  the  Far  West  of  America,  have  been  fairly  poetized,  so  to 
speak.  .  .  .  "Songs  of  the  Sun-Lands"  contains  nothing,  perhaps, .superior  to 
"  Arizonian"  in  Mr.  Miller's  "Songs  of  the  Sierras;"  yet  it  contains  no  poem 
so  crude  as  one  or  two  poems  in  his  former  volume.  The  best  here  is,  undoubt 
edly,  "  The  Isles  of  the  Amazons."  .  .  .  Notwithstanding  these  defects,  however, 
we  maintain  that  we  have  in  Mr.  Joaquin  Miller  a  new  poet,  who  with  more  culture 
and  higher  aims  is  fully  capable  of  producing  in  the  future  a  poem  that  the  world 
will  not  willingly  let  die. 

Front  the  Globe. 

His  poetry  is  in  no  danger  of  suffering  neglect,  nor  is  it  likely  to  lack  admirers. 
By  his  earlier  volume,  "  The  Songs  of  the  Sierras,"  he  fully  proved  his  right  to 
be  heard  ?  and  students  of  poetry  have  not  forgotten  the  influence  of  the  fresh 
thought  and  freer  music  his  verse  contained.  That,  in  truth,  was  the  essence  of 
Mr.  Miller's  achievement.  He  had  somehow  broken  away  from  the  ordinary 
standards  of  poetical  composition  without  sacrifice  of  musical  effect.  The  verse 
was  larger  and  with  less  restraint  than  could  be  found  in  other  singers,  moving 
with  a  more  continuous  flow,  and  advancing  in  a  cadence  always  varied  and  not 
recurring.  Something  instructive  in  the  style  seemed  to  image  both  the  singer 
and  the  thing  sung  of,  so  that  we  were  influenced  not  so  much  by  this  or  that  par 
ticular  thought,  as  by  the  romantic  and  picturesque  effect  of  the  whole,  with  its 
fearless  and  confident  description,  and  its'  untamed  yet  tuneful  melody.  To  follow 
the  poet  was  like  following  a  keen,  swift  rider,  who  rides  eagerly,  it  matters  not 
whither,  and  who  attracts  us  by  a  wild  grace  and  a  beautiful  skill  as  he  rushes 
through  scenes  of  luxuriant  loveliness  that  would  cause  a  less  impetuous  horseman 
to  pause  and  linger.  That  was  the  character  of  his  verse  as  we  knew  it  in  the 
earlier  volume,  and  that  also  is  its  character  here.  What  was  best  in  the  earlier 
work  is  retained  in  this,  and  it  still  remains  the  best  the  poet  can  do. 

From  the  Morning  Post. 

The  author  appears  to  be  a  true  poet,  with  all  the  natural  fire  and  tenderness 
—  the  spark  and  dew — that  fall  from  Helicon.  ...  In  the  present  collection  of 
poems  he  has  largely  contributed  to  his  own  fame,  which  was  already  very  great, 
and  to  the  pleasure  of  all  who  can  listen  with  sympathy  to  the  pathetic  muse  ex 
pressing  her  feelings  in  simple  but  inspired  strains. 


ROBERTS    BROTHERS,   PUBLISHERS, 

Boston. 

•  (3) 


MR.    MILLER'S 

SONGS    OF   THE    SIERRAS. 

One  handsome  \6rno  volume,  cloth,  gilt  top. 
Price  $1-50. 

Eleven  thousand  copies  of  this  very  deservedly  popular  vol 
ume  of  Poems  have  been  called  for. 

Just  Ready. 

JOHN    BOYLE    O'REILLY'S 

SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHERN 
SEAS, 

AND    OTHER  POEMS. 

i6mo,  cloth,  gilt.      Price  $1.50. 


ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

Boston. 


55 


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I! 


